Are You Happy Now?
by robspace54
Summary: Doctor Martin Ellingham and Louisa Glasson brood over the end of their romance. There must be a way to patch things up, right?
1. Chapter 1

Are You Happy Now?

by robspace54

I sat by myself at a small table in a nearly empty pub in Newquay, having come down here to… well… just to get away from the village. I held a glass of ice water, bottled, in my hand and watched as beads of condensation slid slowly down the outside of the glass. The glass was hand blown, not machine made, so the thick walls were wavy. I lifted the glass to the light and turned it seeing how the varying thickness changed the character of the light passing through it.

"Taking up crystal gazing, Doctor Ellingham?" a voice rang in my ear. "That it is you, isn't it?"

I turned to see Mr. Porter, smirking at me by the table.

"Oh, it's you." I lowered the glass and tried to keep a straight face.

"Yes, it's me! Ellingham! You didn't show up!"

"What of it?"

"Neither of you did! Now why is that, do you suppose?"

"Why aren't you tending to your pigs?"

He looked around the pub. "What? No friends to sit and drink ice water with?"

"No. Why don't you sod off?"

Ported crossed his arms. "My pigs are quite capable of taking care of themselves, at least for short periods. Do you think I spend all my time with them?" He pulled out a chair and sat.

"Did I ask you to sit, Porter?"

He seemed not to hear me. "You answer my question; I'll answer yours. Why didn't you and Louisa Glasson, fair maid that she is, not come to the church?"

I rolled my eyes at the insufferable man. "Must we?"

"Yes, we must, Ellingham. You know your patient, my prize and beloved pig is doing quite well now. The vet said you did a fine job. Have you perhaps thought of practicing medicine on the porcine members of the Mammalia?"

The memory of crouching in a muck filled pen with my finger stuck into the anus of the patient in question, a large pink and black porker, still gave me nightmares. I drank some water. "Yeah. Great. Have her send me a thank-you card, would you?"

He laughed. "Oh! Good shot, Ellingham! I do love good repartee!" He tapped on the table. "Now answer my question."

I sighed. "Louisa and I…" I stopped.

"Come on, you can do it!"

"I don't like this game."

Porter slapped the table and glared. "Game, man? No, Doctor Ellingham! NOT a bloody GAME!"

"Just what do you want, you fool?"

He nodded at me. "Good question. I want…" he held up a glass to the barman, "another of these." He looked at me invitingly. "Join me?"

"No. Alright." I waved to the publican. "Give him what he wants."

There was blessed silence while another glass was brought to the table. "Nice," he said as he drank. "Vino Veritas! You do know the meaning, don't you?"

Why was I even talking to the man? The man who had ruined… no, not true. I had done that on my own. "Yeah. I do. Vino Veritas – _in wine there is truth_. Get them drunk and they babble."

"Yes. Good. Your education is _very good_. I suppose all the medical schools require Latin or Greek."

"Latin and I learned it from sixth to twelfth form."

"Now," he cradled his wine glass. "Your answer, the church and all. We waited – all of us – or at least as many as cared to see the spectacle. But somehow… you missed it, both of you."

I bristled. "None of your damn business!"

He shook his head. "No. Not true. It is my business. You see Ellingham… I pride myself on understanding people. As flawed and obtuse as they may be. But… well, I had the feeling that your absence, as well as the blushing bride, had something to do with me."

I looked around the pub. "Just what are you doing here, anyway?"

"I might say the same to you, Ellingham."

"I, uhm… none of your business and the other as well!" I had parked the car and took a long walk along the River Gannel then came in here for a drink, such as I prefer.

"Ah, yes." He drank more wine. "What say I get a glass of this lovely fruit of the vine for you?" He swirled the glass at me. "Drink a little, and as the Latin phrase says, maybe the truth will out?"

I sneered. "No. Thank you. I mean – no thanks."

"I thought not, man of science – must keep a clear head." He sneered again at me. "Yet here we are – the two of us – no crowd of Portwenn onlookers, no gossip mongers; and oh yes their tongues do wag, don't they?"

I stood up and towered over the former vicar. "Why don't you lay off the juice yourself, Porter? Or are you always this sarcastic?"

He laughed. "Touché. Well played." He put down his glass. "I deserved that."

I felt my blood boiling. "You arrogant… bastard!"

Porter nodded his head. "Yes, I am that. You would know, though, wouldn't you? But you do know what people call you behind your back, as well as to your face. But – answer my question. Why did you _and_ Louisa skip out from the wedding – your _own_ wedding?"

I had crouched in the smelly muck of his pig pen trying to correct the rectal prolapse of his prize pig while he asked all sorts of questions. I had been warned about him, his scornful face probing and prying, that marriages were not _his thing_. I answered his questions with some desperation, as I didn't want to disappoint Louisa, given I had helped to break the Vicar's hip.

Porter looked across the muck at me as I knelt in pig shit. "No, Ellingham! Not '_she_ makes _me_ happy'" he smirked as he said it. It should be '_I_ make _her_ happy.'"

That was it. I looked down at Porter, who had given up his vocation as a pastor, because, I'd heard, he'd gone a bit Bodmin. Had started railing away during a wedding ceremony how the sacrament of marriage had destroyed far more lives than it had saved. He'd quit before the church deacons had demanded his departure. So he'd retired to a farm where he slopped swill to his pigs and swilled wine to excess. I suspected the man was drunk even now.

"Porter, why are you badgering me? Go home and sleep it off!"

"Do you think I am drunk, Ellingham?"

"No. I suspect you are well accustomed to the effects of alcohol. But I do think you are a…"

"A snoop?" He nodded and drained his glass. "Well, I may be a snoop. But tell me anyway." He looked around the empty pub. "Secrets of the confessional, Doctor."

I looked down at the disagreeable man. Someone must have hurt him very deeply. "You are so very bitter. Why?"

He laughed. "You might be a rude tosser, but you have X-ray vision! Yes, she – left me. Married my brother, you know."

"What?"

"My fiancé married my brother, after suitably breaking our engagement and my heart in the process. They then ran off to Aruba and happily settled there running an inn and pumping out squalling baby after baby. A friend visited ten years back and reported they had five children at that point including twins just born." He rubbed the table and I realized that his hands shook.

"Mr. Porter, I notice your hands are shaking. You may be experiencing a nervous system disorder from your longtime imbibing of wine and beer. I suggest a complete neurological workup…"

He stopped me with a slap on the table. "No! This," he held up a quaking hand, "is the early stages of Parkinsonism. Parkinson's disease; already diagnosed."

I sat down, now concerned. "Ah. There are a number of drugs which may be useful…"

"Ellingham, stop. Please! I am not your patient, and believe me; you would not want me as one! You and I in a small room – imagine! The fireworks would be quite amazing. I have a doctor in Truro and yes, I am stopping my drinking." He held the empty glass. "This was the last."

"That's good, then. I mean, stopping the drinking."

"Yes. My doctor thinks so too." He turned his coal black eyes towards me. "Now why didn't you and Louisa come to the church?"

Back to that again. "She… uh… I…"

"Got cold feet, yes?" he smiled as I nodded. "Thought so."

I shrugged. "We…" I faltered and stopped. Why as I even talking to the man? The man who had planted that seed of doubt in my head? But… there were signs all was not well, long before that Saturday. My awkwardness with Louisa, our frequent silences, the odd way she looked at me as Isobel the bride's maid was taken to hospital with her newborn. No, the seeds of doubt were well planted and had grown into full-fledged weeds – ones with long and thick roots and thorny leaves.

"So now here you sit. Alone." Porter observed.

"Yeah." I finished my water.

"So, if you didn't make her happy, and she didn't make you happy… well, there's just one more question isn't there?"

"What's that?"

"Are _you_ happy _now_, Ellingham?"

"God no!" I couldn't help it. The words just flew out.

"You know, Ellingham, there's not a day that I don't think about Janine. Janine Spencer, my fiancé, _former_ fiancé, now sister-in-law." He lifted his glass and drained the last drops. "Ahhhh. The last is always the best." He rolled the glass in his hand and looked into it. "I shall miss this… just like Janine."

"You are a pitiful creature."

He smiled. "Thanks. From you that is a compliment. I'll go then." Porter stood. "Take a care Ellingham." He stood and stalked out.

It's been three weeks since Louisa and I called off the wedding and I've blundered into her several times. Each time has been painful and regretful. Too much 'what might have been.' There was nothing for it. Just have to muddle through.

Porter had asked me, "Are you happy now?"

I sneered at the memory, but it hurt; far too much to consider. I went to the publican and dropped a five-Pound note on the bar.

"No thank you, sir. The other gentleman paid for it."

"Oh."

I left the ancient building and saw Mr. Porter drive past in his car. He gave me a grim smile and a half-hearted wave.

5


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – The Next Day

I walked along the river from the pub to my car and climbed in. Porter's pointed questions brought it all back, three weeks ago.

I had taken a call from the travel agency to confirm the cancellation of the hotel room at the resort outside of Barcelona. I gave clipped answers to their questions. NO I did not want to reschedule, YES I wanted the deposit back, and NO do not put me on your mailing list I told them. It was Sunday morning my cottage was quiet, and after my shouted voice died out I heard a tapping at the kitchen door.

Auntie Joan stood there as I opened it. "Stand company?" she asked.

I nodded, waved her inside and had been dreading this visit. I tried to remain calm and show no emotion, but my feelings were right under the surface and squirmed to escape. Whether they would emerge as shouts or tears I was unsure.

Joan came in and hugged me. "Oh, Marty," she began, "What happened?"

"We, erh… thought… it better not to come."

"Both of you?"

"Yes." I pushed her away and went to the dishwasher and began to unload it. There wasn't much inside but I like to keep a tidy kitchen.

She sat at the table, steepled her hands and gave me a concerned look. "And of course, you don't want to talk about it."

"Nothing to talk about. We decided not to get married."

"I see." She nodded. "Right. How about some tea?"

The ritual of boiling the water, pouring out, and setting the cup and saucer, linen, spoon, and sugar and mik on the table gave me some time to gather myself for what was to come.

Joan stirred sugar and milk into the tea after it had steeped. She tapped liquid off the spoon, picked up the cup and took a sip. "Good tea."

"Thank you. Biscuits?"

"No thank you." She took another sip. "What are you going to do?"

"Do? Uhm… the usual. I'll work and so forth. Repair my clocks."

"Marty, that is not what I asked."

"Well, what do you expect me to say?"

She shook her head sadly. "Martin! Just tell me!"

I turned to leave the room.

"Martin Ellingham! Don't you dare walk out on me! The entire village is gossiping away about this! My God! We waited and waited! Finally Joe Penhale, Roger Fenn, and the Large boys set out wondering if there had been a horrible accident of some kind. It was only when Penhale saw lights on in the surgery and at Louisa's cottage did they realize you were both in the village!"

"It is _our_ business."

Auntie Joan stood and headed for the door, then spun and fixed me with a glare. "Yes, I see. So you two thought you would just call it off?"

"Yes, we did. We did call it off. Both of us."

"Marty, what you do is your own business, but I am so…"

"Disappointed?"

Her jaw quivered. "Martin!" she rushed across the room buried her face in my coat. "No! You stupid boy! Both of you are so, so stupid!"

"Joan, I am unsure…"

"Of course you were, and still are, boy! My God, Marty, if you got an hour from the wedding and then got cold feet…"

"Auntie Joan! It is _our_ business!"

"Yes, it is." She sighed, "Isn't it?" Her arms dropped. "Have you talked to her – Louisa?"

"No, I haven't. Probably best to… stay away, I thought."

"Oh, I see! You'll just bury your head in the sand. Act like she doesn't exist!"

"Auntie Joan! You said yourself we were chalk and cheese! Did you expect us to get married and be miserable the rest of our lives, like my foolish parents?"

She turned and walked to the door.

"Joan! I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

Her ruddy face swung to me. "You stupid, stupid boy. You haven't hurt _me_! You've hurt yourselves, the two of you, don't you know that?"

I shook my head at her. "Again, I am sorry. Must be terribly disappointing for you!"

She looked at the ceiling. "Give me strength! Marty… no dear. I am sorry for you. Louisa is a lovely girl and you made such a wonderful couple!"

"Wonderful, Joan? Really?" I collapsed onto a chair. "We quarreled, fought, broke up, didn't talk…" Joan let me go on for a few moments as I listed the differences between us. "And Louisa is gentle and kind… and I am…"

"Not," Joan finished for me.

"Right."

"Did you think that Uncle Phil and I were exactly alike? He grew up right here and I was from London. As different as night and day! But we got on!"

"I am not like Uncle Phil and Louisa is not like you!"

She nodded once. "Remember when you came to the farm?"

"Yes."

"And each time you came for the summer… there was a period of adjustment?" Before I could say anything, she went on. "And you would climb into bed with Phil and me in the middle of the night?"

I nodded remembering many nightmares, which I always got when I had a change of environment. They were unpleasant and horrifying.

"Well, this time, Marty, I won't be just down the hall." She left and closed the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Joe Intervention

Joan was an Ellingham and like all Ellingham's she spoke plainly. But the memory of her words that day made me strangle the steering wheel rim. I still hadn't started the car, just sat there in contemplation in Newquay. There must be something I should do about Louisa, but what would it be?

Call her, ask her to dinner, or continue with my present course and as Auntie Joan put it, _act like she doesn't exist?_

If a patient was bleeding, I knew what to do, or they had a fever, Cushing's Syndrome, or fibro-myalgia… but _this_, I was befuddled. Even worse, the patient _seemed to be me._

After Joan left that Sunday morning, I thought I'd be left alone. Let the tosser stew by himself, I hoped. That was not to be.

Right after Joan's noisy truck drove away there was a ring on the door bell. I stomped through the cottage and there was Joe Penhale with a distressed expression.

"Hi, Doctor."

"Joe."

"I wanted to…"

"See how I was? Goodbye!" I pushed the door closed but the wiry constable flung his arm and shoulder into the opening.

"Doc, no! Quit it! Can you quit pushing so hard?"

"Oh what's the use?" came from my mouth. I threw the door wide. "Come on, then."

"Right. Look, Doc, I am sorry to bother you like this."

"Not half as sorry as I am."

"A time like this and you make jokes! Good! Glad that you're bouncing back."

"Oh? Do I sound low to you?" I just wanted him to leave. "Say what you have to say and go, would you?"

Joe breathed deeply. "Doc, when Margie, that is, my Margie, well, she's not my Margie anymore you see… so she left me and divorced me…"

"Get to the point!"

He held up his hands. "Ok. Margie was my missus. Until I got kicked in the head – you remember."

"Yes." Joe had been injured in the line of duty and suffered a brain injury. This had caused a number of medical issues for the man – including odd behaviors as well as agoraphobia, narcolepsy, and attention deficits. It was a wonder the man could function at all, but the medications he was on were working; so far at least.

"Right. There I was injured, divorced, 'fraid I'd lose my job…" He breathed deeply. "I was pretty low."

"And you think I am low? Because Louisa and I are not getting married?"

"Well, aren't you?" I opened my mouth but he interrupted. "Look, right then at the lowest point of my life. I started drinking - a lot."

"Oh for God's sake! Now you'll tell me how you met a preacher, got religion, and were saved from yourself? Give it a rest, Joe!"

"No, Doc. You're wrong. You are wrong! I was on patrol, one of those days I could actually go outside, you know, the agoraphobia, and I found this old guy, sleeping rough in an alley. He was in the gutter, literally sound asleep and he was all filthy, smelled like cheap beer…"

I shook my head. "Joe, get to the point!"

He dropped his head and looked away across the harbor. "Doc. I looked down at that guy and I had a funny feeling. I woke him and… drum roll… his name was Joe. My name."

"Yeah. Divine intervention." I sneered.

"No, Doc. I don't think God had anything to with it."

I rolled my eyes. "Right."

"This guy, Doc, he looked up at me, after giving me his name. Joe Parker it was, I'll remember it all my life. I sat with him for a bit until the ambulance came. He had a big gash on his shin, all purple and black, and oozy this dark blood, like…"

I felt nausea rise and I held up my hands to stop him. "I get the picture."

"Ok. Joe Parker told me he used to be a barrister, then he got caught fooling around with some bird, his wife left him, he fell to drink and drugs, and then that alley."

A moral play – as I thought. "So the man made his own bed and had to sleep in it! What of it? Come to the point!"

"Well, I was thinking. If I hadn't met this Joe Parker that day maybe I'd have ended up just like him!"

"Yeah," I said unenthusiastically.

"Doc, I'm guessin' that you probably don't think much of me. I'm odd, weird, and you'd just as soon not be around me; I can tell that much."

"Ah… well, Joe," I started.

"But, Doc. I just figured maybe… just maybe… you needed to talk to a _'Joe'_ today. So that's me."

The man was sincere, I could tell, and in his own odd way was trying to help me.

"And I just knew you'd be up here all by yourself, and I'd sure hate for the best GP the village ever had to turn to drink or worse! All them prescription pads up here and Mrs. Tishell with her pharmacy just packed with barbiturates, tranquillizers, Oxycodone, Tramadol…"

"Joe! I'd never!"

"Yeah, I thought so too. Just sayin' when I was low… I sure thought of them things. Working patrol I could'a got all them pills and more pretty easy. For a doc, even easier."

Portwenn's odd constable was right. I had at hand, or could get, any number of such _things_, as he put it, not that I would or could – ever.

"Right."

He punched me on the shoulder. "Dynamic Duo – we're good, right?"

I rubbed my sore shoulder where his too enthusiastic punch had made contact. "Yes."

He smiled for the first time. "Ok, then! You need anything, you just…" he held up spread thumb and finger to his face and mouthed the words 'call me.' Joe let the door go and gave me a hug which I would not return.

"Ah, erhm, Joe… let go!"

He let go and backed off. "You – me, Doc. Together, right? See you later then?"

"Right," I said and closed the door on his grinning face.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – A Large Supper

The memory of Joe standing there grinning like a fool did bring a smile to my face, which I quickly wiped from view. I shook my head in disgust at his sentimentality. Yet that evening when I left the cottage for a few minutes, having spent the entire day inside to avoid villagers, the police Bedford drove past. Joe Penhale gave me a hearty thumbs up and a 'you and me' gesture with his hand.

I scoffed at him and turned to go back inside, when I heard the calling of young female voices.

"Oh Doc! Doc Martin? Want to give me a try, hmmm? Smooch, smooch! You tosser! What's the matter Doc; wouldn't Louisa do what you wanted? You can give me a try!" I heard in a babble. It was Portwenn's girl-pack in hot pursuit.

I'd planned to head to the cliff walk for a stroll yet here those girls came at me hell-bent on ruining any warm feelings I might have for the teenage girls of this town. I turned to dash back inside, their remarks reminding me all too much of past voices yelling at me at public school, cornering me in the shower room, dormitory, or rugby pitch.

Their voices continued catcalling with peculiar remarks, when a male voice shouted, "Hey! You just leave the Doc alone!"

I turned to find Bert Large limping up the lane, bearing a basket. "You girls; I know all your names! Now you get on home and don't let me catch you up here again!"

"Ooh, better watch out! Bert might sit on us and that would be it!" one cried and they slouched off.

He looked up at me on the cottage terrace. "Doc, here." He held out the basket covered with a terry-cloth towel.

"What's this?"

"Just a bit of halibut, roasted potatoes, a handful of salad and rolls. Al and I thought you might be hungry."

"Not sure I'm actually hungry."

Bert looked at me with concerned eyes in his heavy face. "Doc, when I lost Al's mum, all them years back, I stopped eating, nearly wasted away."

"Looks like you got over it."

He chuckled and patted his ample girth. "Indeed I did! But I was sayin' Doc," he swung his arm away from his belly and winced.

"Something wrong, Bert? With your arm? Let me see it."

"Oh, this?" he pulled his sleeve back exposing a cloth seeping with a greasy ointment. "Just a bit of a burn. Kettle lid."

"Hm. I'd better see to that. Come inside."

"No, it's fine. Don't want to be a bother."

"That needs looking after." I pointed to the door. "Go through."

Bert hobbled along into the surgery and I sat him down on the exam couch. His arm was blistered under the bandage, which I inspected with distaste. "That's a second degree burn you've got, and what is this vile stuff on this cloth?"

"Lard."

"Lard? Rendered pig fat? Bert, this sort of stuff will do no good for a burn! And if those blisters break, the grease will provide a wonderful medium for bacterial growth! Don't you have a first aid kit in your restaurant?"

"Yes, we do, that is we _did_. When I got the burn this morning, Al reached up to the shelf and the whole kit fell straight away into the waste bin! A perfect shot, almost like it was aimed! In spite of the burn, I laughed!"

"Er. Not funny, though." I took anti-bacterial soap and started to gently wash away the grease.

"No it wasn't! So we just wrapped it up in lard, like me old mum did, and that's a dish towel you're holding."

One of the occupational hazards of being a GP in Portwenn was being exposed to the time-honored, and almost always wrong, traditions of poor medical care. "Look! I'll get this cleaned up and bandage it properly. I'll give you sterile dressings and antibiotic ointment for it as well. You change this dressing tomorrow and the next day. If it remains painful, there is spreading redness, a foul odor or you feel unwell…"

"I'll come see you, then." Bert hung his head. "I'd be a sorry mess without you, Doc."

"Yes, you would, given your ancient and outmoded medical methods!" I shook my head. "And I noticed you are limping." I finished cleansing his arm, applied a topical cream, followed by a sterile patch and gauze.

"Yeah, well we was wrestling with that marquee, the one that we set up by the church…"

"You twisted your knee."

"Suppose I did. I'm not as young as I used to be!"

I examined his knee; swollen slightly but not grossly. "Paracetamols and ice; stay off it. Give it a few days. What say you come see me Wednesday or Thursday? I could check the burn, check on the knee…"

"Sure, Doc. I will."

I left the office and quickly examined my office schedule. "Wednesday, 9 AM. That work?"

"Thanks, Doc. I'll just try to go with the flow and you too. Right? But Doc, I was saying before - about eating. You need to eat, so I brung you that basket." He pointed to it on my desk. "You eat all that up, now. I was startin' to say that when Al's mum died I didn't want to eat. But I had little Al to raise. You might not have a baby to feed, dress, and raise up like I did, but by God you have to take care of the village. You are _our_ GP."

"Alright." I regarded Bert Large - cook, restaurateur, former plumber and handyman - but also philosopher, and a good man. I helped him from the couch. "You're sure you can walk back down the hill?"

"Sure, Doc. If I can't walk a hundred steps, might as well dig a hole and roll me in. But it better be a mighty _large_ hole, if you catch my meanin'." He laughed.

I almost cracked a smile. "I'll remember that." I handed him a packet of sterile dressings and a tube of antibiotic cream. "Any problems with the arm… or leg… call."

"I will, Doc." He limped to the door. "Doc?"

"Yes?"

"I heard that you and Louisa _both_ called the wedding off?"

"Yes, we did."

"Ah." He shook his head. "Shame. Well, it would have been a lovely party!"

He left the surgery and I heard the front door close. I took the basket to my kitchen and the smell of roasted fish filled the room when I lifted the cloth. "Thanks Al and Bert," I said.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Second Day

Monday at nine AM, Pauline Lamb came to the surgery door and knocked harshly. I opened it and she seemed shocked to see me. "Forget your key?" I asked. "You're late, again."

"Doc," she muttered as she brushed by me. She dumped her voluminous purse on the desk and started the computer.

"Full patient schedule today," I said.

"Yeah." She rose and went to the kitchen.

I was sorting the post as she came back with a mug of coffee. "I was just about to get a cup. Thanks."

She shot me a glare. "Get your _own_."

"Right." I retreated to the kitchen and heard clumping of awkward shoes behind me and as Pauline caught my eye she lashed out.

"Do you know what you've done? You sodding tosser!"

"Pauline! No call for that! Is there?"

She got right in my face. "_You know_ damn well, what this is about, Doc! My God, all London grown and educated and he doesn't know what _he's_ done wrong," she finished sarcastically. "I want to tell you…"

"Tell me what?"

"That's right! Act all innocent! Typical _man_!" She stomped away, and even though she radiated waves of hate I went after her.

"Pauline, I do not owe you any explanation! You are an employee, and this is personal business! Our business! We have done nothing wrong!"

Pauline sat at the computer, glanced at me quickly, then pulled out a tissue. She blew her nose loudly.

"Have a cold - a virus? If so, wash your hands."

Pauline sniffled more as I walked away.

I went to the examination room and was at the desk when Pauline attacked once more. "I want you to know…," she gulped, "that _she_ _cried all night_!"

"Who?

"Twelve solid hours and you ask _who_? You're all alike, everything damn one of you! Louisa Glasson you boob! You man!"

Ah. "We both agreed to call it off, Pauline. Our choice."

She slammed the door and I was left in blessed silence until the first patient arrived.

Mrs. Tibbs had a strained expression as she came in. "Oh, you're here, after all. I thought the locum would be here."

"No, I cancelled his services. I am here. Have a seat. What's the medical problem?"

"I came to have these stitches out. It's been two weeks."

"Yes." I plied tiny scissors and forceps to remove the twelve stitches in her left hand, where she had sliced it with a butcher knife. "The doctor at Wadebridge Emergency did a fine job. The tissues are well matched. No tenderness or soreness?"

"No. Just this long thin scab."

"Soak it in warm water, fifteen minutes twice a day. Don't pull on the scab; it will fall off. Less scaring that way." I dropped the instruments onto the dirty instrument tray and washed my hands. "That's all then?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Next patient!"

She paused at the door. "You can be so inconsiderate, you know that? I spent a packet on a new dress and hat, got my hair fixed, new shoes, and the mister even washed our car! Then you... _tosser_… you called it off! Didn't even show up!"

"It was our choice. Both of us!"

"I bet not! I bet Louisa told you to sod off!" She whirled and was gone.

I stood there gaping as Pauline brought in the next patient record. "Told you."

Mrs. Tibbs' reaction was typical of most of my morning patients. Mr. Evans told me I was an _idiot_, Mrs. O'Hara called me a _fool_, Mr. Smith called me _demented_, and Mrs. Campbell a _tosser_, but Mr. and Mrs. Grylls differed. He used the words _bloody idiot_, but she corrected him.

"No, dear," she said. "We discussed this. No need to be rude. Remember?"

"Oh yes, that's right. So sorry. You say our bit dear."

Mrs. Grylls sat upright and turned her attention to me. "Doctor Ellingham. I am certain that you and Miss Glasson carefully considered the state of marriage with solemnity and reverence, as most people do. Just like the mister and me." He nodded in agreement. "Moving on, Bill and I discussed this at some length last night after our evening walk. We thought it best to say that you must be the stupidest man in this village, Cornwall, the UK, and the entire world to refuse marriage to Louisa Glasson! She is the sweetest, loveliest woman, and you must have hurt her deeply with your decision to not carry through."

"Now wait a minute… we both… felt, well, that it was best to… _not_ carry through, as you put it."

"Oh, really! This is just the way the mister said you'd react. Therefore you leave us no choice. We have decided to withdraw you from our list of medical providers. We will now attend a GP in Wadebridge."

"I see. Wadebridge is a long way."

"No matter." She stood up. "Come Bill. I want nothing more to do with a man that I cannot trust. One whose personal judgments are so flawed, must therefore be a total quack when it comes to medicine."

"Your choice. I am sorry that you have lost your trust in me."

She turned at the door, her husband by her side. "Yes. We _have_."

They flew out and her comments stung far more than anything else anyone had said so far.

Pauline came to the door. "See what your decision has done?" She sniffed at me and dabbed her nose. "All night, she cried…"

I pointed at the waiting room. "Send in the next patient!"

Sure," she sneered, "business as usual."

She closed the door behind her and I felt lonelier than I had for a very long time.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Seeing

My first patient in the afternoon was quite different from the batch in the morning. Mr. Pawley peered at me through his cataract dimmed eyes as I took his blood pressure. "Hm. Not bad, considering where you were before."

"Oh? It's better, then?"

I checked his records. "Yes. You're down to 131 over 78. That's an improvement."

"So them pills are working. Good."

"They seem to be helping. You have been staying off the fried foods, as well?" I knew this was a vain hope as most, especially since older people such as Edwin Pawley thought that fried kippers were healthful. Dreadful!

The man sighed. "Been tryin'. My son and daughter-in-law, they been here the past fortnight. She's some sort of health nut, I suppose. All I get is salads, veg, and baked chicken. Awfully bland! Not even a fried egg in the morning – feeds me some sort of healthy cereal, she calls it. Tastes to me like forage!"

"Hm. Well the modification of your diet should help and it seems to be working with the beta-blockers to reduce your blood pressure too. We'll get the blood sample Pauline took off to the lab and see what your cholesterol looks like."

"Them pills you got me on; they supposed to help?"

"Yes. The statins are a class of drug which will reduce your circulating blood cholesterol levels. Elevated levels can, and do, cause heart attack and stroke. And the beta-blockers will reduce your blood pressure."

"I'll have to stick with the chicken, then?"

"Yeah." I looked at his cloudy eyes, the left far worse than his right. The right was partially clear but the left was nearly opaque. "How long until your cataract surgery?"

Pawley sighed. "You know I ain't ever had an operation in my life and now at age 72 I'm gonna' let someone cut my eyes! I must be daft!"

"No, not daft. Smart. Cataract surgery has been performed since ancient Egyptian times. So much better now."

"Really?" he relaxed. "Then if they could do it, so can I - all them pharaohs and such? Eye doc says next month."

"Good. Soon enough you'll be fit."

"Great… so Doc, somebody says that you and Miss Glasson... well, you…"

I sighed. "We called it off, the wedding."

"Really."

"Yes." I didn't want to discuss this with him. "If there's nothing else?"

"No. Not really."

"If you'll leave, I can see my next patient."

"Alright, Doc. But I was thinkin' maybe I should tell you something else."

"Medical nature, is it?" I felt irritated. "Er… other patients…"

"Right. Well my Gillian, you know she been dead these five years and we was married a good long time, forty-seven years?" He coughed and looked away and when he continued his throat sounded tight. "I ain't told a soul; not all these years."

I braced myself for home grown village philosophy. "Make it quick."

He looked around the room and lowered his voice. "All that time, well… I can't say we ever really loved one another."

"Oh." Wonderful! Now I had to play psychiatrist for a dead woman.

"Well we had the three boys you know. Had the farm and the car, all that. Went to church most Sunday's. There wasn't a night we ever slept apart, until the cancer came, you know. But…" he sighed deeply. "Her dad and mum was real keen on us marryin', mine too and most were. And all our friends was getting hitched about the same time, you know. So we did too. But…"

I looked at my watch and knew I was getting out of time with my schedule. There must be five or six patients outside and this old man was nattering on. "Mr. Pawley, come to the point!"

"Doc," he whispered bending his mouth towards my ear, "from the minute we was hitched up, we couldn't stand the sight of each other. I'm slow talking and quiet like, and Gill was loud – a real laugher – and then there was all the other stuff. She was a reader, I'm not. She'd want to tell me about some story or such she reading, and I just didn't care. I was tired from the farm work you know and I needed rest. Me and the radio, a cig at night, read the football scores, and I was ready for bed. There probably wasn't one thing we had in common. Not one! We was just too different. We didn't even argue, that was the funny thing! Just carved out these little spots for ourselves and those spots never really connected, but for the obvious things."

"Well thank you Mr. Pawley for your life's story. Now if you please… I have other patients!"

He flailed out and grabbed my wrist and squeezed it hard. "You listen to me, Doc! I'm trying to tell you something; real important. I might be just a half-blind retired farmer with bad breath and a fist-full of pills to take every night, but by God I'm tellin' you I married the wrong woman, for all the wrong reasons! I never strayed; not ever. But there was plenty of cold lonely nights in that farmhouse. I'd look across the room, where Gill was readin' to one of the little ones or doin' her cross-stitch and ask myself '_who is she_?' And the worst was lying in my bed across from hers every night and knowin', just knowin' she felt exactly the same about me! To my dyin' day I had no idea why we got hitched up!"

"Oh."

"So good for you Doc! If you didn't know, and I mean really know, for _damn sure_ that Louisa and you were fit to be together from the very beginning, well… bugger it!" he relaxed and let go of my arm. "Take it from me, Doc. Forty-seven bloody years of torture – living with a woman I did not love – and who did not love me – that was pure Hell!"

"And divorce was not possible."

"Nope. Never crossed our minds. There was not one moment in all that time that she was happy, and I know for damn sure I was miserable! Giant sodding bollux the whole thing! So good for you to pull out before it was too late!" He stood up. "Don't let the bastards get to you Doc."

"Ok."

"I might be nearly blind, but I'm not stupid. And I seen things most never will. Ta." He left.

As the door closed I considered his words. Edwin Pawley was not blind and not an idiot either! "Next patient!" I bellowed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – Truth

Wednesday followed Tuesday which came after Monday and it was much the same. Nosy patients asking me what happened, and offering their own opinions on whether I was a tosser or a wise man. By the Wednesday, just four evenings after Louisa and I had called it off, I was tired of the whole thing. Almost better to have gone through with it than to suffer the endless round of opinion and discussion which I was now suffering. After the last patient, Pauline came into surgery for a moment and stared at me.

"Are you too going to hector me now, Pauline? I know perfectly well what you must think of me. And I'll tell you, I don't care!"

She shook her head. "No. It's just… well Al and I were talking last night…"

"Of course, you were! Who has not been discussing me? Us?"

"Doc!" she went on softly. "Shut it, would you? Al was saying that he heard some talk…"

"More gossip! I don't want to hear it!"

"You might want to hear this! Oaf! He heard the dry-cleaner say that Louisa was shopping Monday and told his wife in the market that maybe the whole thing was a mistake."

"Of course it was."

"No. Not the wedding!"

"But, what else there… oh."

"Yeah, Doc. The _whole_ thing."

She left me to ponder that. It was quite late that evening until I stirred from my desk. I had spent several hours reviewing mine and Louisa's entire history, from our abortive encounter on the plane to last Saturday afternoon when we called off the wedding.

Between those two points we had tentatively made forays to get to know each other, and had been battered by rumor, misunderstanding, and accidents. Our ante-relationship survived my drunkenness and waking up with a dog, the romantic predation of Louisa's old school chum Danny Steele, and other vagaries of small village life.

We dated, or attempted to, until I buggered up that evening with a comment about pheromones and the scent of urine, along with her meddling friend from London and a near-death experience of that friend in Louisa's kitchen. That very event brought us together. I looked at the calendar and realized that my proposal was just a month ago. That precious moment when Louisa said _yes_ to my question of marriage was the brightest star in my universe.

Then I had been told today that Louisa had told someone who told her husband who told my clerk's boyfriend then spoke to Pauline that the whole thing – _our entire relationship_, presumably – was a mistake! A mistake?

Well if it was a mistake it had taken me the entire height and depth of my emotional range, and now… and now… what _did_ I feel? I rubbed my hands together and they shook. I felt let down, ruined, ashamed, bruised; awful to have led Louisa and myself on this stupid journey. Each time I saw Louisa, even if we had quarreled, I was hopeful that the next time we met we'd be on better terms. And I felt there was a pull about Louisa that I had sensed since the plane trip three years ago.

I had told her I loved her and I meant it, when I said it. Perhaps I still… I drove a fist onto the desk. Yes, I knew it! I knew it as sure as my hand ached from the blow that I still loved Louisa Glasson. I feared I always would.

But mine was the fault. My arrogant, unbending, rude and awkward personality was the wedge that had driven us apart. Porter called it cold feet, but it was more like ice water down the neck. The ice water being that I was totally unsuited to marry Louisa and likely anyone else. I was not worthy. But I felt that no matter what happened, I'd not forget Louisa Glasson, not ever. The nights in her bed, few though they were, were extremely… sweet. The sweetest thing with the loveliest person I would ever know.

Louisa would have been far better off with Danny Steele. At least he would likely have tried to make her happy, unlike me. The truth hurt.

Auntie Joan called me stupid. She was wrong! I wasn't stupid; I was smart, but too smart for my own good to go through with the wedding. I knew that my ways would destroy our love, trapping us both in a marriage. So I sat on the sofa, until Louisa walked in with her letter, last Saturday.

Now I sat in a rumpled suit, in near darkness, while my stomach rumbled for food. I rummaged in the kitchen and found nothing I wanted to consume. There was only one thing for it – take-away. I marched myself through the early November evening to the fish and chips shop. Mrs. Cronk was wiping down the counter as I went in.

"Oh, Doc Martin. Sorry, all out."

"Yes. I see. Goodbye."

"Say, Doc? You ok?" she called as I backed out the door.

I left before she could ask me about the non-wedding. I made my way to one of the many pubs and ordered at the counter and said I'd wait outside. There was a noisy crew of lifesavers in there and the beer was flowing along with their tall tales. I was in no mood for company.

I slumped onto a bench and savored the evening breeze. Even the seagulls were quiet this evening, but the breeze built into a wind and it gushed along the narrow streets. The day had been sunny; the stucco houses now gave off their day's heat, so it was bearable though. The late fall storms were not that far off now and I didn't relish the frigid and wet winter to come. This one would be worse than the others I was certain, at least I was anticipating the crushing loneliness to come.

I heard footsteps approach on the street and sat bolt upright. I knew this walk but before I could budge, Louisa came around the corner and almost bumped into me.

"Martin?"

"Louisa." I stood and faced her. "Getting some take-away."

"Right. Ah…" she bit her lip. "How have you been?"

"Terrible."

"Me too."

I nodded. "I didn't think…"

"It would feel like this?" She nodded her beautiful head. "Me neither."

"Been, uhm, getting on?" I managed to utter after some painful seconds of silence.

"Yes, yes I have. Been trying to fend off the gossips, you know."

"Yes. They're… appalling, aren't they?"

"Yup." She rubbed her arms as a chill breeze blew. "Cold tonight."

"Winter's around the corner."

Louisa looked at the ground. "Listen, Martin… I was…"

"Yes?"

"I've just come back from your cottage."

"Oh?" Why would she want to see me after all the mess?

She looked away for a moment. "Actually, I wanted to give this... back." She reached in her handbag and pulled out my grandmother's ring. "You should have this."

I held up my hands. "No. You should keep it. I gave it to you."

She cocked her head. "But, Martin, you should take it back! I can't imagine keeping it!"

"No, no. I gave it to you. You keep it. It was a gift… for the engagement."

She shook her pretty head once more and her eyes looked wet. "Martin, I really can't conceive any reason why I should keep it." She forced the ring into my hand and pressed her lips to my cheek. "Sorry, Martin."

She tore around the corner before I could move and as I took a step to go after her, the pub door flew open and a barmaid with a greasy bag in hand blocked my path. "Fish and chips?"

"Yeah," I answered and the wind blew very cold.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Spite

The weather was rainy as well as cold right to the weekend and I was dreading Saturday. Every one of my patients had something to say about the wedding this week. They remarked on how it was almost a week and so forth and what a shame it all was. I gritted my teeth and deflected their comments with demands to stick to medical issues and refused to listen to any of their interpretations of mine or Louisa's actions last weekend.

When surgery closed for the week I heaved a weary sigh and Pauline left without a backward glance, muttering something about '_another fun filled week_ _gone, thank God!'_ I was relieved to get through the last days and glad to see Pauline gone too. I needed rest from the words and opinions.

I'd noticed that comments on our lack of a marital success had started to take a decided turn. My suspicions were confirmed when I strode downhill through a downpour to the pharmacy.

Entering the shop, I folded my umbrella and saw Mrs. Tishell behind the counter with her head supported by her foam cervical collar around her neck, more of a psychological prop than an actual medical need; my theory. She was dealing with two customers while one waited.

"So Sally, you know what I mean?" asked the old man cantankerously. "It just seems to me…"

"Oh, Doctor Ellingham!" interrupted Mrs. Tishell in a loud voice. "I didn't see you come in!"

The shop couldn't be more than fifty feet square. How could she have missed me?

The old man at the counter turned. "Ah. Doc Martin, I was just saying to Sally…"

"No! Mr. Wilkins, I'm sure the doctor really doesn't want to know your opinion on that!" Mrs. Tishell butted in again. "Let me just ring this up for you Doctor, and you can go on your way!"

There was an old woman at the man's side, his wife I presumed. I had a vague recollection of who they were – pensioners, about aged seventy. She had nephritis about a year ago and he had gout. From the stiff way he stood on his feet, I was certain he'd not been sticking to his diet or the medicine I prescribed.

"Medical problem?" I asked.

Before Wilkins could answer the third customer joined in. "We was sayin' Doc that we all know what really happened last week."

I riffled through my memories and couldn't place her. "You are?"

"Sue Connor, Doc. I come to see you a year and a half back for my sore tailbone. Remember?"

"Yes. Osteo-arthritis of the spine and lower joints. Doing adequately? I haven't seen you for it since."

"Oh, yeah," she bobbed her head. "But this rainy weather makes it ache."

"Yes, it will. As you recall I told you then that exercise, a good diet, and non-steroidal anti-inflammatories will help slow the degeneration."

"Been doing that. Not that bad."

Sally was craning her head back and forth with agitation and an alarmed look on her face. "Oh, the Doctor really doesn't need to know what you were all saying! I'm sure he has other things to do! How can I help you Doctor? Let me help you straight away so you can get on."

I handed her the list I'd made up. "Just supplies. No rush. If you could fill these items, please. Next week is soon enough." I was stocking surgery with antimicrobial wipes, more gloves, and a good supply of paper masks. With foul weather setting in the annual round of winter viruses were ready to pounce. I was preparing for the onslaught of coughing and hacking about to descend upon me.

"Doc?" the Conner woman jumped in. "We were sayin', just like some others too, it was for the best that you dumped Louisa Glasson."

Blood flew to my face. "Oh, you were?"

"What with her history and all," said Mrs. Wilkins.

"History? Whatever are you talking about?"

Mrs. Tishell got very loud. "No, no, you lot! I won't have you stand in my shop and saying…"

"Just _what_ are you all saying about Louisa?" I shouted and put fists on hips.

They looked at one another for a moment then the Connor woman spoke. "You know – Terry? Her dad?"

"Terry Glasson, what about him? And what has that got to do with…" I slowed as it dawned on me what they were implying. "How dare you! All of you!" I shouted. "Are you implying that because Terry Glasson is in prison, that reflects badly on Louisa?"

Mr. Wilkins stood a little straighter. "Stand to reason now, don't it?"

His wife added, "You come from London, big surgeon there, well you used to be, and you must have loads of money. Seems to me she plotted to get her hands on your cash! What better way than to love you up, then skedaddle?"

Mrs. Conner bobbed her head. "Yeah, that's it in a nutshell! Them Glassons - all alike! Her mum weren't no better either! Everybody knew that Terry stole everything he could get his hands on! His girl can't be any different!"

Words were too weak to express the anger that flew to my brain in a rush. My pulse pounded and through a red haze the room seemed to swim. I ground my teeth together and the shocked face of Mrs. Tishell swam into focus.

Her frightened eyes held mine as she spoke. "People been saying - well you know how idle chatter can stir things up!" She laughed. "People will make things up, won't they Doctor?" She waved a dismissive hand. "Just let it go, that's _my_ advice."

My eyes swung across the four of them and my chest pulsed with anger. In measured tones I through gritted teeth started in on them. "Louisa Glasson is the _best teacher,_ as well as your Head Teacher, this irritating village has or will _ever have_, I am quite sure! She is polite and kind, unlike you lot! There is not a mean bone in HER BODY! The sins of the father, her father, cannot be visited on her just because he is a criminal! _He_ is serving his time; paying for his crimes! How can you attach that to _Louisa_? What is wrong with you bloody people?"

As I paused for breath, Mrs. Tishell backed away from the counter with a scared look. "Oh dear," she muttered.

Now my entire body was shaking. "You are all nasty, malicious, spiteful snoops and if I had my way…"

The other three recoiled waiting for the final blow.

"Oh, what's the use? Sod off all of you! I have had it up to here with your back biting, sneaky, gossiping, short-minded small town ways!" I shook my fist at them. "How DARE YOU blame _Louisa_ for the end of our engagement! If you must blame anyone, BLAME ME!"

The silence that followed was deafening as they stood there quaking before me.

My lip curled. "If I ever hear any more of this utter codswallop… oh what's the use?" I shouted at them again. "BUGGER OFF all of you!"

I turned round and left the shop slamming the door as I went and stomped away towards the surgery.

Behind me I heard the chemists' door fly open. "Doctor?" called out Mrs. Tishell. "You forgot your umbrella!"

The cold rain had picked up but it nearly flew into steam as it fell on me I was so enraged as I walked uphill.

"Doc!" called Sally's faint voice. "Sorry?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – Food for Thought

Saturday was a dreary day with sheets of rain pouring down with the wind howling, quite a difference from last weekend when we had mostly sunny skies. The weather was not the only difference as I got a call from Aunt Joan to visit for lunch and her disposition at her farm became every bit as uninviting as the cloudy skies.

"Martin," she said as I arrived at her door.

"Still raining."

"Yes, the perfect complement to what I've been hearing about you!"

"Oh?" I handed her a bag from the market. "Fresh bread."

"Hm. The hotpot will be ready soon. Lamb sausage."

"Alright. Sounds good."

"I suppose you want tea?"

"If it's no bother." I sat at the table and she clumped a cup and saucer down. "What's wrong? Have I done something to offend you?"

She bustled about setting the table in swift jerky motions. "No, Martin. Everything is fine, just fine!"

I knew the signs of a dustup and there could only be one target on the range – me. "Should I leave?"

"You just got here." She shook her head. "Don't mind me; I'm an irritable old woman. Don't mind your old aunt."

"Something is wrong, then!"

She sighed and checked the saucepan. "Almost ready." She stirred the contents then I heard a sniff behind me at the cooker.

I stood and put a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me what is wrong, would you?"

"No," another sniff. "We can eat, if you slice the bread."

I plied the serrated knife and made a stack of slices. The hotpot was good and I said so. "These tomatoes are yours, onions too?"

She nodded. "Picked the tomats green before it got cold. Used the paper bag in the cold cellar trick. They ripened nicely."

Other than a few casual comments about the weather we ate silently as the rain pounded the house. We finished with fairings, strawberry coulis and more tea.

Joan sat there looking to the side as I drained my cup. "Thank you, that was very nice."

"The condemned man ate a hearty meal."

"Alright, what's it to be? Drawing and quartering? Boiling in oil? Being forced to eat a hundred Cornish pasties?"

Joan sighed and turned watery eyes my way. "Do you have any idea…"

"About what?"

"Neighbors, villagers – the grocer, Dave the postie, even my neighbor Phil Pratt all had something to say what they thought of your little performance last week." She tapped the table. "Tarring me with the same brush, I'll have you know!"

"None of their business."

"I know that!" She sprang up and walked about the room, wringing her hands. "Marty, I just… need to know, that you thought long and hard about…"

"Cancelling? Yes I did; hard at least, if not long."

"What in God's name made you do it? I've taken an awful lot of guff over the years, but this… this is the worst!"

"Worst? Really? How do you think I feel? I've had patients agree it was for the _best_, others went completely in the other direction and said I was _mad_, and even had some pull their medical registrations! They made me feel like some sort of criminal!"

"Yes," she said warily. "That's the very word I've heard some use about Louisa."

I pounded a fist on the table. "I've heard that too. Makes my blood boil!"

"I heard you had it out with some of Portwenn's finest at the chemist's yesterday."

"So I did. Nasty, dirt digging, spiteful…" I stopped. "Sorry."

"It's ok, Marty. I have one question and I hope you'll answer. Why _did_ you and Louisa call it off? I still don't know." Her lips quivered. "I just hope it's not too – humiliating!"

I sat there open-mouthed upon hearing this. "Humiliating?" I looked down. Might as well tell her. "We just knew we'd not make the other happy."

"What?"

"Joan, I'm not the easiest person to be around."

"I had no idea!"

I blew out air. "Louisa said that she wouldn't make me happy, and I felt the same. I mean I wouldn't make _her_ happy!"

"That's it? I imagined all sorts of…" she cleared her throat. "Well, Marty, now what?"

I nodded. "Yes, that is the question."

"Have you talked to her?"

"No. Not really." The momentary meeting in the street didn't count, and I certainly was not about to tell Joan about the ring.

"Marty! You have to talk to Louisa. You _have_ to!"

"Have to? No, I don't."

She shook her ruddy face sadly. "Marty, what am I going to do with you? What harm can it do to talk to the girl?"

"There _is_ no way back, Joan."

"None?" Joan stood and clasped hands behind her. "Martin. I really don't believe that. There must be some way."

"No."

"Martin Ellingham!" Joan burst out, "I can't imagine that there is anything that could stop you if you really want it!"

"You're telling me what I want now?"

"Someone has to! Louisa and you can work it out. I know you can."

I stood. "Thank you for lunch."

"Just ask yourself, what do you want? Life is more than just work, clocks, eating and sleeping!" She dropped some of the biscuits onto a paper plate and covered it with cling wrap. "Food for the journey."

"It's not that far, Auntie Joan."

She shook her head sadly. "Boy, it's further than you think. Food is not just for the body, Marty. Take the biscuits; you will get hungry."

I took the plate thoughtfully and kissed her cheek while she hugged me. She escorted me to the door and opened it.

"Looks like the rain is slacking off," she said peering out. "Sun behind those clouds Martin."

As I drove to the village the rain did stop and slanting rays of sun came through. I ate one of the fairings and wore my sunglasses for the rest of the drive.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – Get Along

Sitting in my car along the river in Newquay I reflected on the many words, insults, advice and thoughts I had that first week about our wedding cancellation, our relationship, and our personalities in general.

Aunt Joan asked me after our lunch one week after our cancellation, "What do you want?"

Those words stuck with me and I was torn over them. Part of me wanted to call Chris Parsons and say that I was quitting so I could leave Portwenn. That idea held a certain attraction. If I did that I would no longer be hounded by the gossips, snoops, and busy-bodies of the village. But where would I go? I'd need a job, at least for the long term, and if I left the village in the lurch suddenly, I'd not be able to get another post easily, as the news of a rapid departure would dog my heels. Even if I did leave, I knew Louisa Glasson would cast a very long shadow over me; running would not take that away.

Another part of me wished to go to her house and try to talk to her.

_What would you tell her, Ellingham?_ _That you wished to be friends, lovers, or engaged once more?_ my internal voice spoke.

For me to say any of those things was extremely unlikely. Louisa would, that is, _she_ would be able to say those things, if she wished to. I, however, was no great dramatic speaker. Feelings… always got stuck in my throat. It was only at great times of tension could my cerebral cortex be fooled into uttering what I felt most deeply about. My patients rightly assumed that I always spoke my mind, usually while yelling at them! But then I was cold, heartless; a bastard. Dealing with Louisa… was much more… difficult.

_Why is that, Ellingham?_

I knew the answer. It was a simple, one word answer - Fear.

_Why are you afraid?_

I clamped my lips together. I knew the answer. My prime reason was the fear of rejection. If I honestly believed that we could patch the rift; reach a new and better rapport, then I'd have to open myself up the possibility that she's say NO.

If I didn't ask her, then there was a 50/50 possibility that she'd say YES. But in asking the question… I shook my head at the notion. No, I'd just be stirring the pot once again. I'd hurt her enough. I was used to being bullied, gossiped about, and even being pitied. Louisa was a woman of great depth and emotion. Hadn't I hurt her enough?

I knew the answer. Best to try and get on; let the wound heal. Hope that in time she'd forget and start over with someone else. And I… would stay that grumpy bugger at the surgery. I arrived in Portwenn looking for a job, nothing more. That is the way it _should_ remain. I was used to being on my own - a purgatory of my own making.

The Monday after my lunch with Joan was a normal day. That is, I was pestered by pig-headed patients, continuing to lay their opinion on me and about me. I plastered my best ex-surgeon face on and tried to keep their comments restricted to their medical issues and what I was to do about it.

I was instructing Julius Waters on the proper way to clean his ear canal as I heard the telephone ring in the waiting room. My instructions were very important as the last time he cleaned his ears, he drove a wooden toothpick right through his eardrum. "So, Mr. Waters, understand?" I told the elderly man. "Never put any pointed object into your ear! If the earwax is that impacted and hard, come to me! But make an appointment!"

He peered at me through rheumy eyes. His injured ear was stuffed with cotton from the injury. "Right, Doc! But my mum, she always just cleaned 'em right out. Did it so I could hear!"

I shook my head in frustration. "No. As I have said…"

The consulting room door flew as Pauline Lamb slammed it wide open. "Doc! Emergency at the school!"

Wonderful. At least I'd not have to hear Waters go on about local remedies for ear wax. "What's happened?"

Her eyes were wide in fear. "Something about two students; got in a tussle or something. A head injury, they said."

"Right." I stood and looked at Mr. Waters. "I have to go." I grasped my bag. "Keep up with the eardrops. Come see me on Wednesday."

The weekend storm had blown through making it clear but cool. Cool enough that I didn't even break a sweat as I trotted up to Portwenn School.

The secretary leapt up as I entered the office. "Doctor Ellingham!"

"Report of an injury?"

"Yes, follow me!"

I followed her chubby body down the hall and found Louisa and another teacher dealing with two children on the floor. The boy had a cloth held to his face by Louisa as well as the start of a black eye. The girl sat on the floor, sobbing from a red face. She did not appear to be injured, but she held her left hand oddly.

"Martin!" said Louisa. "Glad you could come so quickly! Bit of a dustup."

"What's happened?" I got down and looked at the boy. His mouth was dribbling blood through the cloth that Louisa held to his face.

"Timmy here thought he should get a little close to Charlotte."

"Close?" I pulled the cloth aside and a trickle of blood came from his mouth. "Erh…" saliva pooled in my mouth and a flush came to my face. "Let me see…" The boy opened his mouth and a chipped tooth was visible through a torn lip along with more blood and several dark clots visible on teeth and gums. That did it.

As I was vomiting into a bin, the other teacher spoke. "Sorry about calling you, Doc. You can see it is a bit of a mess."

I wiped my mouth on a gauze pad from my medical case. "Yes. No problem. Here," I pushed several gauze pads into Louisa's hand. "Hold these to his lips. Where's the tooth? The dentist might be able to…"

The teacher held up the girl's hand and I saw a white object protruding from the center knuckle of her left hand. "There it is, doc."

"What?"

She pointed. "That's it. His tooth. It's stuck in her hand!"

That's when I had to vomit again.

Louisa gave me a sympathetic look. "Martin, can you help? I know it's difficult for you…"

I held up a hand to stop her words. "I'm fine. How did this happen?" I decided to extract the tooth from her hand and dress it. She'd likely need a tetanus shot. I snapped gloves on and was able to pull the tooth from her hand as she squirmed and screeched.

Louisa rolled her eyes. "Timmy here has had a bit of a crush on Charlotte."

"Nu, uh!" shouted the boy. "I didn't say that!"

The teachers exchanged looks as I put a loose bandage and antibiotic on her hand. "Superficial. Looks like she punched him."

"Twice!" yelled the boy. "All I wanted…"

"You hugged me!" yelled the girl who lashed out with a foot trying to kick Timmy. "I told you to stop it!"

Louisa interjected. "Yes, he knows that he should keep his hands to himself, right Timmy?"

"I didn't do it!" blubbered the boy. "I was pushed by my mates into her in line, and then she just starting punching me!" He wailed for a few seconds. "She broke my tooth!"

I held his face while I probed his mouth with a fingertip. "The dentist will be able to fix this, I think. More of a chip, than a broken tooth. This upper lip needs to be sutured. A plastic surgeon should see to that. Hospital." The kid wailed as I probed his face. "Plus X-rays to rule out any facial fractures."

The girl held her hand out oddly. "What about my wrist? Timmy pushed me down after… well… after I hit him! Is it broken?"

I flexed the joint and she winced. "No. Sprained. Fighting is not a good idea."

Louisa looked me with wide eyes. "That's what we were telling them, Martin. People have to get along."

Her lovely blue eyes held mine for an instant. "Yeah." I looked at the other teacher. "I want two bags of ice. One for each. And call their parents and tell them what I told you. The boy should go to hospital. Parents can take him. The girl," she glared at me. "Home, ice, rest, Paracetamols." I pulled an elastic wrap from my case and bound her wrist.

The teacher stood and walked away. I heard a murmur of voices from the office so calls were being made. The bleeding from the boy's mouth was slowing, so he had good clotting. A few stitches should fix him, I thought. The trip to hospital was really for the X-rays and the dental repair.

The girl sat on the floor flexing her wrist. "It still hurts!"

"Yes, Charlotte. That's what happens…" Louisa told her then turned to face me. "When we don't get along."

I stayed until Timmy's dad arrived so I could explain what I expected. The man thanked me then bundled his son off to his car. Charlotte's mum had gotten her a few minutes earlier.

Louisa stood in the doorway watching until the car left. "Sorry, Martin. Totally unexpected."

I nodded. "Children. Hard to fathom at times. Nasty creatures."

She hugged herself as a cool breeze blew into the doorway. "They're _just people_ Martin. Hard to teach them to see the other side. Apologize and so forth. Understand other people…"

I looked up her framed in the doorway. "Yeah. To _get along_." The breeze blew her hair, which she wore up today.

"Right. Martin, I was wondering." she started and then went on hesitantly. "If we could talk for a minute?"

"About what?" I dearly wanted to hear her voice.

She licked her lips. "I want to tell you…"

Hurried footsteps came down the hall, the school secretary. "Miss Glasson. I've got Mr. Sands on the phone. He wants to speak to you. Says he's returning your call."

Louisa rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Martin. I have to go."

I watched as she walked away and I'm certain my face took on a strained look.

The secretary stood by me. "How are you doing, Doctor? Getting on?"

"Fine," I answered with no enthusiasm.

"That's good. It hurts me to see you two like this."

I left the building before she could see the expression on my face.

"Goodbye, Doc!" she called to my back as I went back to surgery.

Auntie Joan had asked me "What do you want?"

I had an answer. She just walked down the hall to take a phone call.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – Travels

Wednesday morning I visited Mrs. Tishell to pick up supplies I needed. The annual virus attack was officially started this week, as a parade of sick and ailing patients came to surgery. Their symptoms were essentially the same: low-grade fevers, runny noses, sore throats, coughs and sneezes.

There wasn't much to be done, other than keep repeating a mantra of, "No antibiotics needed, drink fluids, eat well, Paracetamols for fever and malaise, plenty of rest, and wash your hands!"

Even Auntie Joan visited, sniffling as she handed me a chicken cassolette for my dinner. "Thought you might be hungry."

"Yes," I said. Just what I wanted, virus laden food in the kitchen. "Your temperature is normal," I told her as I read the numbers.

"Achoo," she sneezed. "Don't suppose you can much for this cold, though."

"No. I can't."

"Thought so. Well, I needed to be in town for some deliveries. Pauline squeezed me into your schedule."

"Get some rest…"

She cut me off. "I know the routine. What I really came for was to ask if you needed anything from me?" She sniffled into a tissue. "Rotten cold."

"Need what - from you? Unless you are handing out free viruses along with the food?"

She stood. "I thought our little talk the other day might have stirred… well, something, anything, in that head of yours?"

"No, not really," I lied. "Now Auntie Joan, I do have patients; other patients to see."

"Humph. I'll be off." She walked to the door, and Buddy her dog bounded in.

"Get that dog out of my surgery, would you?"

Joan picked up the dog. "Come, Buddy. We're not wanted, it seems."

I closed the door behind her, then tipped the dish she'd brought over the office bin and the contents slid out. I wiped the interior, binned the paper towel, and then washed the dish and my hands thoroughly. All I needed was for Joan's germs to travel to my consulting room, so I could infect other patients, as well as myself.

Pauline announced shortly thereafter that it was lunch, so I had an hour and a half to fill. Hence my visit to the chemist for the items I ordered on Friday. Mrs. Tishell was wisely wearing a paper mask over nose and mouth as I went in.

"Oh, Doctor Ellingham! So good to see you! I was just reading this article in the BMJ about the transmission of viral meningitis amongst young adult populations at university. I don't suppose we could have a sit down and talk this one over?" she asked hopefully.

"No. Supplies."

"Well, worth a try," she said softly followed by a sigh. "I do have those supplies you asked for."

"Good."

As I signed the slip, she nattered on.

"So I was talking to Trudy, from the school this morning? And she said that Louisa Glasson wasn't in today."

"Oh? I didn't know it was your task to keep tabs on her."

"No! It's not that, but what with this cold circulating about, well, I hoped she wasn't ill. What with the, uhm, aftereffects of, the uhm…"

"The what?"

"Well, you know, the wedding, I mean, I'd think it would take you both a bit, low, if you know what I mean? And depression can lower one's immunity?" She leaned confidentially towards me, her voice now low and husky. "If you want… to talk, about it… I'd be glad to lend a _friendly ear._" She bent further over the counter.

"No. I don't." I held out my hands. "My supplies. And Mrs. Tishell?"

"Yes, Doctor?" she replied optimistically.

"It's none of your business."

I went to surgery and restocked the cabinet, wondering what in the devil Sally Tishell was all stirred up about. The woman must be one of the worst gossips in all of Cornwall, and her odd approaches to me, I found to be… odd.

Pauline marched back into surgery shortly, flinging the front door wide as she did so.

"Pauline!" I shouted as the door collided with the wall. "Have a care!"

She rushed to the desk, pulled a tissue from the box there and sneezed loudly into it. "Sorry, Doc. I guess this cold is getting to me too."

I reared back quickly. "Well, wash your hands." I went to the front door with an alcohol soaked wipe and wiped the knob, jamb, and any other surface she had touched or brushed against.

"Jeeze, Doc!" she shook her head. "It's not like I have the plague!"

"You might." I binned the wipe while standing well back from the desk and her.

"So, Doc, what you think about Louisa Glasson?"

"What? It's none of _your_ business, what _I _think!"

"No, Doc. Not that! I mean a couple of teachers came by the restaurant for box lunches. They both said Louisa wasn't at school this morning; said she left in a taxi, first thing, carrying a case."

"Oh? Louisa Glasson is a free woman, and she is allowed to make any journey she wishes."

"Said she was all dolled up, hair in a bun, makeup, her best shoes, gray suit, and the whole thing. Seemed a bit odd to them."

"Probably a meeting of some sort. She's just staying over. Teachers _do_ have conferences and such, you know, and she is Portwenn Head Teacher."

"She didn't say anything to you?"

"NO! She didn't!"

"They also said that Mr. Sands come by the school late yesterday and had a really long meetin' with her; closed the office door and everything."

"Mr. Sands _is_ the head of the Board of Governors, Pauline," I said in exasperation. "He has every right…"

"I'm just sayin' it all seems a bit mysterious, don't it?"

Our conversation was ended, thankfully, by Mrs. Campbell arriving with her young daughter for vaccinations. "Patient record, please." I held out my hand.

"You sure you want to be touching what I touched, Doc?"

I turned to the file, pulled out the C – D drawer out and took out the file. "Mrs. Campbell, go through."

Pauline sniffed into her tissue. "Seems like this cold will save me a bit of work, right?"

I curled my lip at her and followed my patient and her mother into the consulting room. I pointed to the patient chair and the woman sat, pulling her three-year old daughter into her lap.

"Well, Doc? What do you think about Miss Glasson leaving town early this morning? The taxi man told my hubby she was off to the train station."

"Oh?"

"He said she was goin' somewhere with her _case_ too."

"Ah. Didn't know. Now let's see about these vaccinations…"

"I mean," she blathered on as I drew the syringes out, "seems like she _never_ goes anywhere until right now. And just about ten or eleven days after you two didn't get married."

"What of it?"

"Nothing. Just wondering."

"Let's stick to the medicine, shall we?" I said, but her words left me cold, for I was speculating as well.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 – Web

Thursday came and no Louisa; Friday morning as well. Mind you, I wasn't stalking the poor woman, but sitting in my surgery or attending patients in the village, information came my way. Like a spider the vibrations of insects on the web seemed to be instantly transmitted to me, like it or not.

Granted _we had_ called off our wedding, but the memory of her walking downhill from surgery that fateful day, her beautiful wedding gown swaying to and fro as she walked, tore at me like a knife. In spite of my intentions to let her go her own way, there was a pull between us, and like that spider, I wanted, no _needed_, to investigate.

Even Roger Fenn got into the wheedling act. He had an appointment so I could look at his neck, the one from the surgery that removed a non-cancerous cyst from his vocal cords. He gazed at the ceiling as I palpated the tissues. As I tried to feel any anomalous objects in his neck, he started to speak. "Doc, I was thinking."

"Shhh!"

He was silent for a few seconds then started again. "About Louisa…"

"Be quiet!"

Blessed silence continued for about a minute. Then he gave it another go. "You done there or have you taken a fancy to my wrinkled old neck?"

I sighed in frustration. "_Look_, Roger… yeah, done." I wheeled away from the exam couch, picked up my pen and began to write on his chart.

He looked at me from the couch. "Can I get up?"

I nodded and went on writing. Roger sat in the patient's chair before me and buttoned his shirt. He finished and was staring at me as I looked up.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

"Just wondering if there were cracks through the armor to the soft squishy human underneath."

"Keep your sarcasm to yourself, Fenn!"

"Sorry, sorry. Just…" he cleared his throat. "So how is my old neck, hmmm?"

"It's fine. The scar is well healed and is fading. They did a good job."

"Oh? A good job am I?"

"Yes, you are. Is there anything else? Feeling fit?"

"Yeah, I am. Maureen says to say hello."

"_Hello_. Twins doing well, I suppose."

"Crawling all over. But you know that. You've seen them, right here in this consulting room."

"One of them peed on my tie. The other threw up on my sleeve."

He laughed at me. "Sorry about that, Martin. They _are_ babies. We all start out like that."

"Yes, I know. They taught me that in medical school."

He shook his long-haired head and smiled behind his glasses. "You are a sorry bugger."

"Thank you," I said sarcastically. "You may leave now. I pronounce you fit."

"I'll take that as an official approval." He stood. "Martin, one more thing," he paused. "You'll kill me for asking this, but… have you spoken to her, to Louisa, I mean?"

"Yes. I have. We spoke."

"Oh," his face fell. "It's like that."

Blood flew to my face. "Roger, what would you have _me_ do? Throw myself weeping at her feet like some love-sick fool? Scale the wall of her cottage and play Romeo into her open window? Send her love letters filled with flowery poetry? Really!"

"Since you put it that way, it might not hurt."

I pointed to the door. "Out! I've had all I can take from you, Pauline, Bert, and the whole damned village!"

"You know, Martin," he had crossed to the door and stood holding the doorknob, "we don't expect you to play the fool. We know you'd _never_ do that."

"Good! At least I still get _some_ respect in this wretched backwater!"

Roger looked at the floor for a moment. "I'll tell you this Doc, when you told Maureen that she was pregnant, that I was to be a dad, I thought my heart would burst with happiness. So the times I saw you and Louisa together in the street or a pub, you tried to be your usual stiff rude person, but I could tell that wasn't what you felt _inside_. There was a look in your eyes, just a glimpse, and a little way your mouth went up on one side. That's when I saw the cracks in your armor."

"Will you _leave_?" I asked as all this was too uncomfortable.

He walked back to the chair and sat. "Martin, if you think you can park yourself up here all alone and let her waltz away…"

He must have seen the look on my face, as his words failed. "Oh, no." He looked at me dumbfounded. "It _is_ like that. Bad, huh?"

I spun my chair to face the window, turned it at right angles from him and struggled to keep my composure but it was difficult.

"Martin, I _am_ sorry," Roger added. "I know this must hurt like hell. But you have to do something."

I turned away a bit more. "Just go, would you?" I wished he would leave before… something terrible happened. I heard him stand and walk to the door.

"I apologize," came his words. "Didn't mean to twist the knife. It's just that I know that if I was ever in a spot where I'd lose Maureen and the boys, it would kill me. Louisa, well, all this must be killing you too."

I dared not breathe or move until he left. I heard the door open and his final words.

"She's back you know. I saw a taxi come into town and drop her off at her door, not twenty minutes ago. I thought you'd want to know." The door closed on his footsteps.

I inhaled deeply as hot tears trickled down my cheeks.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 – A Flower

That Friday afternoon, I came as close as I ever had to completely breaking down. My feelings matched quite closely those I felt when Louisa told me she could not see me anymore. That was the day of the concert, when her friend Holly, or was it Polly, played with the string quartet. And that night I lay awake all night, in a suit, flat on my back, thinking of all the harm I had done to her and to myself. My stupid mouth and brain were the fault of our breakup.

I flashed back to how I felt in the wake of Roger Fenn's visit. The steering wheel was slick in my clammy hands. There was a constable up the way who walked towards my car.

He leaned down. "Anything wrong, sir? You have been sitting here quite a while. Anything the Newquay Constabulary can do for you?"

He acted like Joe Penhale's genius brother, or least one that'd not been kicked in the head by a horse. "No, officer. Just thinking."

"You're certain, then."

"Yes… as a matter of fact I just decided to go for a walk."

The office smiled and stepped back as I opened the door. "Right. But don't forget sir," he pointed to a metal sign on a post, "you'll have to move your car by two PM today. Street cleaning; this side."

"Of course. I'll be back soon."

He moved off with a half-wave but I knew he was watching me. I set off along the river towards the sea and memory took me back a week.

After Roger left my surgery last Friday and I composed myself for a minute or so, I rose and took a book from the shelf. The binding read "MANNING - _Guide to Gastrointestinal Disorders_" in gold letters. I knew this volume well for its contents and not just the medical ones. I turned to the proper page and there lay the dried, pressed flat yellow flower Louisa gave me that day, as we sat next to one another on a rug in the grass.

The next morning after a sleepless night I was in my own personal purgatory, so I took the flower from the lapel and went to throw it in the bin, but something prevented me. It was a bitter reminder of what was and almost had been. The flower was some sort of aster I supposed; botany was not my long suit. So it lay between the pages of the section on incarcerated bowel ever since. When I was low I found myself pulling the book down and caressing the binding. Most times I did not open it, but today I did.

The flower was quite small, about 2 cm across, yellow petals arranged in a star, with a slightly darker center. I sniffed at it and it still held fragrance. Perhaps there was a message in it. I touched it briefly, snapped the book shut and called to Pauline. "Send in the next patient!"

The door swung open and Pauline Lamb stood there. "No more Doc. You're done, today at least."

"Ah. Good. You can go, then."

She looked at her watch. "It's only four."

I motioned her away. "Samples shipped off?"

"Yes, and the mail as well. Got a stack of bills, though."

"Fine. Go on Pauline, leave. I'm sure that Al Large, the boyfriend, plumber, cook, waiter of yours will want to see you sometime this weekend, might as well get started early."

Her eyes went wide. "Really? You mean it? You'll pay me for the full day?"

I nodded my head.

"Ok! Whatever did Roger Fenn _say_ to you?"

"Never you mind. Go."

"Alright, see you on Monday morning."

"Right."

Pauline clumped to the desk, switched off the computer, picked up her handbag and was gone in a flash. "Goodnight, Doc!" she called behind her.

The door clicked as she locked it and I was alone. I straightened the office and consulting room, binning tattered magazines and junk mail then paid some bills and added them to the stack for Monday's mail.

I managed to waste an entire twenty minutes and I cast about for more to do. Well there was a stack of British Medical Journals I could read through and I hadn't touched the email since noon.

I checked the pantry and fridge. I didn't see anything I particularly wanted to eat but for a piece of monkfish. The Farmer's Market was open until five, so I still had time to buy something to add to my Spartan repast. The fish and chips I ate two weeks back had totally put me off pub grub, the resulting intestinal distress not worth the convenience.

People were out and about this afternoon even with nightfall approaching. Summer tourists were long gone, but there were still those who came for the quiet, birding, cliff walks and so forth. And they also came to eat and drink. The Crab and Lobster was getting cranked up, as well as the rest. I squirted through the clusters of people uphill to the market. Only Margie was inside the market as I opened the door, the little bell announcing my entrance. She was plying a broom under dim lighting as I went to the vegetable bins with a basket on my arm.

"Oh, Doc Martin! Hello. Need some veg, eh?"

"Yes. Red potatoes, I think."

"We got some good ones there. Carrots and broccoli are nice too. Sorry about most of the lights being off. Hubby says there's a fault in the circuit."

Thankfully she was in no mood for further talk. I found the foodstuffs I wanted in the dimness then went down the aisle to find detergent and hand soap. I was bent down to get the soap when I heard the bell on the door tinkle and the murmur of voices.

With a half filled basket I went round the end of the shelving unit to pay. Margie was bending over, talking to someone seated on a stool. The seated person was turned, their back to me - a woman - dark raincoat, dark hair.

"Oh, Doc!" Margie said. "Got a patient for you, looks like. A bit of sprain, here. You should have a look."

As my eyes adjusted coming from light to dark, Louisa's white face and blue eyes looked up at me.

"Hello, Martin," she said softly. She was rubbing her left ankle. "I'm ok, really."

Margie spoke. "Well, sweetie, the Doc's here, so let him take a look. It's not like he's never seen an ankle before. Especially yours," she chortled.

"Let me look." I dropped to one knee. "Let me see it."

"Twisted it a bit getting off the train. I needed some things and it really didn't bother me until I walked down the hill. Hurts now though." Louisa wiggled her foot around. "Oww…"

"Let me see it."

Margie backed away. 'I'll let you two have at it then." She smiled and retreated into the gloom.

"Twisted it you said?" I took the member in my hands and touched it slightly. Her skin was warm and soft and the joint had a spongy feel under the slightly swollen skin along the medial surface.

I looked at her shoes, which were heeled. "You don't usually wear heels."

"No. I don't." She grimaced.

I eyed the heel which must be six centimeters high. "Not practical, especially with the hills here."

"I suppose not. What you think?"

"It's an ankle… uhm, your ankle… and you have a slight sprain."

"Yeah. That's what it felt like."

"You didn't fall?"

"No. There was slick spot on the platform and it sort of folded under."

I squeezed the joint and she sucked in air. "Jesus, Martin! Not so hard!"

"Sorry. Ice and a wrap. It is sprained, slightly. No other injuries?"

Louisa shook her head _no_. "So much for shopping," she sighed.

"What do you need? I could… get it for you?"

She eyed me warily. "Don't bother, Martin. I'll be fine."

"No bother. Let me help you. Tell me what you want… I mean, need… I mean… groceries."

"Yeah. Ok," she said slowly after a few seconds of silence. She took out a list from her handbag. "Here. If you don't mind."

The list was short. Paper towels, Windolene, air freshener, bleach. "Doing some cleaning?"

"Yeah, a bit. Been away, couple of days, you know."

"Yes. But you're back now."

"Yeah," she said then bit at her lip and looked away. "I really have to get going. Things to do." She took out her wallet and found it empty of cash. "Oh, God. I meant to go to the cash point."

"No matter. You can pay me back later," I told her.

Marge beamed at us turning her head from Louisa to me.

"What are you looking at?" I shouted.

"Nothing," Margie gulped.

Louisa jumped. "Alright, Martin. I owe you." She loosened the belt of her raincoat. "Bit warm in here isn't it?" she said, then scooped up the purchases.

"I'll walk you home," I said.

"No, Martin. No need. My cottage is just a hundred paces away. If I got here, I can get back."

Margie turned her face from Louisa to me and back again. "Oh, what a pretty pin," she said.

Louisa was wearing an orange-ish sort of top and gray skirt. She had a yellow pin, a perfect replica of the aster she gave me at the concert, pinned to her blouse over her heart.

The sight of the tiny pin quite took me up short.

Louisa blushed, glanced at me and then looked to the door. "Thanks. I bought it yesterday. Oh lord, I am expecting a phone call and I left my mobile in the kitchen! Better run." She looked at me, with a faint expression of regret. "I mean, I'd better go. Bye Martin." She ducked her head. "Margie."

She limped off as I scanned my card for the groceries.

Margie stood there with an odd look on her face. "You ok, Doc? You look like you seen a ghost or something."

"No, I'm fine." I took my purchases and pushed into the dusk before Margie could ask me any more questions. I'd not seen a ghost – just a yellow flower. It was best to walk away quickly before I began acting Bodmin over a yellow aster as I knew my face was twitching.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Iron

I strode on the path along the River Gannel and watched it flow into the sea, where fresh water mingled with salt. Seagulls were attracted to bread being thrown up to them by children. Seagulls – nasty dirty birds – almost as bad as dogs; they shat on everything. Plenty of days I was wiping their offal from my car or the front windows of the surgery.

I paused at a sort of turnout on the path and stopped. The river was on my left, ocean to my right. Behind me some thirty miles or so lay Portwenn and the troubles I had tried to leave behind. I was being successful today until Mr. Porter showed up to disturb me. Porter! There was piece of work. Bad-mannered, offensive, rude – much like me. Yet he had shared that he too had once lost a love, which partially explained his abrasive behavior.

I held a railing in my hands, watching the water flow. There was rust on the metal and I made sure not to let the gritty and damp material rub off on my suit. Too many suits ruined, too many shoes binned, too many shirts soaked into bleach to remove bloodstains, too many… things left behind. That is I have _tried_ to leave them behind and not always so successfully.

As I held Louisa's warm and velvety ankle in my hand, examining the slight sprain, I crouched on the slate floor of the market looking up at her. I also smelled sandalwood, soap, a hint of perspiration, deodorant, toothpaste and mouthwash. Part of me wanted to tell her that I missed her, but it was not the time or place. If I have learned one thing about Louisa Glasson, it is that there is a proper time as well as an improper time.

My proposal of marriage was improper, since I just almost killed and then saved the life of her string-playing friend Holly. Louisa and I were team mates as she helped me tend to Holly, who lay in a pool of blood and shards of glass. Luckily I had brought the defibrillator; most fortunate or Holly would have died after Louisa dropped the bottle of Naloxone, an injection of which would have stopped the morphine from depressing her central nervous system.

Yes, I do miss Louisa, an awful lot. I told Auntie Joan that Louisa was gentle and kind. True, but she was a whole lot more. I have seen her comfort a crying and hurt child at her school or instruct parents with barely held anger when they thought it alright for them to hold their child from classes for a family holiday. I've also seen her rush to my defense, against the 'Doctor's friend' who was hell-bent on ruining my practice, as well as against others who had harsh things to say about me. So I needed to add loyalty to the list that described the woman Louisa Glasson. Yes her lovely head held an entire choir of such things. Certainly she could be obstinate, usually against me, when I had offended her.

When she looked at me, that day of our wedding, as Isobel gave birth to her baby along the cliff walk, I sensed she wanted to talk to me then. But she didn't and neither did I. So I must add reticent to the list as well, at least at certain times.

As I held her ankle with the shop keeper leering in the background, it was neither the time nor place to tell her… that I did still love her. She started as I touched her limb. My eyes were about at the level of her waist as she sat on the stool. I could have reached out, put arms about her, and hugged her tightly, but I was afraid to do so of course. What if she recoiled or yelled? Pushed me away or slapped my face? Or worse, what if she sat still as a stone, indifferent, unmoving, and cold?

Then there's the other thing – sex. I am not a terribly passionate man, at least not in the romantic sense. My passions lean more to healing the sick, teaching obstinate patients ways to better their diets and lives, and , yes, my passion to hold myself in check. To resist the things I want to do, to suppress them; bury them deep. But with her I felt free. Shy of course, as we were strangers in that department. But we got on. It was wonderful – she was wonderful.

The morning after our first love making, I dressed quietly and quickly. Louisa lay inert, snoring gently in her bed, the sheets smelling faintly of sweat and other things. I gazed at her lovely hair and the top of her bare back, a shoulder, part of an arm. I woke her and she started in surprise.

"Martin? You're not slinking off, are you?" she asked.

Well wasn't this what I was doing, right now? Slinking off? Furtively going about my business in Portwenn, scuttling about from cottage to cottage and back again, head down, averting my eyes from the gaze of others?

The rusted handrail resisted the grip of my hands and arms. The grit on it was a mixture of dirt, peeling paint, iron oxide, and sea salt. It was rough and dirty, yet was solid. Not much to look at.

The children down the path were out of bread now and the seagulls made a few vain passes looking for more. Finally they gave up and flew off. A little boy waved to the gulls, while his mates ran to a bench where two women and a man sat, who were laughing at the scene.

The boy was small, thin; aged about nine or ten, I'd say, with a head of ash-blond hair. He wore a school jumper, dark trousers, and a school cap. He whirled about in a circle and stopped facing me from thirty feet away. I could have been facing myself. He had the same thin face, tall body, and non-muscular build that I had at that age. The man on the bench stood up, strode to the boy and threw his arms about him – kissed him, tousled his hair – and the boy returned the affection.

No; not like me then. Unless I imagined that the man was my Uncle Phil. I breathed deeply as memory did its work.

My father never hugged me or kissed me; never told me he was proud of me. Even as a vascular surgeon at the top of my game, not once had he told me how much he appreciated my accomplishments. The closest he came was a leer and a comment about all the money I must be raking in. That bastard!

I hated him still and any feelings I had about my mother were far worse. Her admission that she never wanted me was the absolutely most horrible thing to say. That I was _unwanted_?To be branded such made so many things understandable, if not bearable. She said I was a product of an errant sperm and her unwanted egg? I was _a mistake_?

The man and boy joined the women, laughing, talking along with the other children. They all stood then and en masse trotted across the street to an ice cream shop. Bit cold for ice cream I imagined on this partly rainy day. The boy was at the rear of the pack holding tightly to the man's hand. The child turned his head towards me and smiled.

I came unhinged at the sight. I felt the iron of the rusty handrail grind into my flesh, the rough texture abrading my fingers and palms, as I held tightly; too tightly. The iron was strong; stronger than I as I tried to crush the life from it.

I looked at the family, as they clearly were one, just now entering the shop. The man put his hand on the boy's shoulder, his other across the shoulder of the nearest woman. I could see her raise a hand and touch his. Her face turned quickly to the man and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Yes. That was what I was missing. Louisa's hand in mine, her soft hair against my neck, her lips on mine with her slender warm body pressed against mine.

The iron handrail was cold to my flesh and I added a drop of two of salt to its grimy surface as water fell from my face.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 – Give and Take

Standing there, watching river run to sea as gritty iron ground into my palms the coldness and hardness of the railing reminded me of the call I received that morning. That call was the one that sent me off from Portwenn. The telephone call was from a gritty, cold and hard place so there _was_ a connection.

"Doctor Martin Ellingham, please." The voice was male, smooth, and official sounding.

"Yes, speaking."

"Ah, this is Warder Andrews calling from HM Prison - Cardiff, sir. I was given your number on a list to screen and the person requesting it was most insistent that he be allowed to speak to you."

This sounded serious. "Yes, Mr. Andrews. How can I help you?" I ran quickly over my memories, trying to guess who might this might be about. I realized it could be Mick Mobley, late of the Large Restaurant and employment there, or… oh God! "Is this about Terry Glasson?" I groaned aloud loathing.

"Why, yes it is doctor. The inmate requested clearance to contact you. This number was not put on his cleared list previously. But this person requested that he be permitted to contact you. The chaplain has endorsed this contact, sir, given what he was told by the inmate."

I groaned again. Terry Glasson, Louisa's father, and his cockamamie accomplice Jonathan had involved Louisa, Pauline, Al, me, and a number of others in their abortive scheme to open a safe with explosives. The entire plan might have worked but for the rampant paranoia of Jonathan, as well as meddling by the denizens of Portwenn. Fortunately the only real casualties were two nesting chough birds and the lock of the boot of my car.

"Warder Andrews, what is this about?" I really didn't want to speak to Terry Glasson.

"Sir, I mean, doctor, the chaplain asked me to convey that he believes that Inmate Glasson would benefit from you speaking to him. Would you like to speak to the Chaplain?"

I sighed. "Not necessary. Considering that I was one of his victims…" I petered out. Was this why I didn't want to speak to Terry Glasson? "Just what is that is all about, then?"

"Sir, I really don't know. But if you assent to the phone call, I believe it can be arranged within the next one-half hour, sir."

What did I have to lose? "Alright."

"Thank you sir. The Chaplain is sitting right here and is smiling. We'll arrange the call. Please stay near the phone sir, this landline?"

"Yes. I'll be here." I busied myself with the patient statistics for the PCT, trying to keep an open mind about the upcoming phone call. But as I worked I felt a dull headache begin as my lip curled into an expression of scorn as the entire sordid _Terry Glasson _affair ran through my memory. Shortly the phone rang and I had to move from the past to the present.

"Ellingham," I said into the mouthpiece.

"Doc Martin! I didn't think you'd let me call you, what with all that went on," a gravelly voice said into my ear. The vision of Terry Glasson, middle height, heavy set, gray hair and blue eyes, also bearded and obstinate came to my mind.

"State your business," I said sharply. "I have real business to attend to and am in no mood to waste time."

"Alright, alright, doc!" he cleared his throat. "First off, thanks for taking my call. I know you don't have to, or most likely want to, speak to the likes of me."

I growled at him softly. "Correct."

"Ah… so then… to the matter at hand…" he began then stopped.

I waited for more and heard only silence. "Glasson, are you there?"

"Go away; let me make this call in peace will you?" came as if to someone off stage. "Sorry, doc! Bloody cons always larkin' about trying to pick up on juicy gossip!" he laughed. "Not that different here than there, eh? So how are things in Portwenn? I imagine it's getting cold and wet?"

"I know damn well that you have not called to discuss the weather! Come to the point, and quickly, or I'll ring off!"

"Take it easy, Doc! My God, it's a Saturday morning so can't you take a few minutes to talk to Louisa's dear old dad?"

"Dear old dad! My lord, Terry, look around you! Have you forgotten where you are? So just why have you called, other for a chat-up about coastal rainfall?"

He sighed and his voice fell to a whisper. "Doc. Uhm… yeah, it's like this… I heard that you and Louisa was gonna get hitched, tie the knot?"

"Yes," I said matter-of-factly.

"But you didn't."

"No, we didn't. In all fairness to Louisa and me I don't think that this conversation is useful to either you or me. Goodbye!"

"Doc! No, wait. Please? I'm beggin' you! Don't hang up! Don't do it! Come on. Just a few minutes?" he asked in a wheedling tone.

I looked at my watch. "Five minutes then. Be brief."

"Thanks Doc. Now you know I get letters, not many, but a few. And what I was told just totally blew me down. That you and Louisa was engaged. Brilliant! Who'd have figured that you and Louisa would get hitched up!"

Yes. We _were_ engaged. Past tense."

"Yeah, I read that too."

"We didn't get married."

"So it's true. Both."

"Yes." I heard only static for some time. "Terry?"

"Yeah, doc. I'm still here."

"So you know."

"Doc… did you… did you… oh God!" He moaned. "Did you call it off because of me?"

"No! That's not why."

"Look, doc, there's things you don't know about Louisa. I mean…" he gulped, "I'm not so great, but you know that. Oh, this is hard… Doc, Louisa she don't always show what she's feelin'. When her mum ran off, oh, Louisa must have been eleven or so. She was home from school one day I was out, looking for work see, and when I got home, there was little Louisa reading a book all curled up on the sofa. I came in late, I remember it was raining, stormed through the house and found this letter. My old lady, she wasn't no literary genius, doubt she ever read a book, and her writing looked something like hen scrathin'. But what she wrote tore me up."

"Let me guess, she said she was sick of you and your daughter."

"You're a mind reader! Brilliant. Her mum was not so great herself, you see. We fought like tigers, oh we had good times too, but she was always wonderin' what was over the next hill, and at the end…"

"So?"

"So, doc. Louisa, she was real quiet, after, for weeks. I thought things were ok. They were tough, but working out. One night I tucked Louisa into bed, kissed her good night and I went down the hall to my lonely cold bed. It was 'bout an hour later. I heard this sound, real low like, and I thought it was a dog outside whining. But it just kept on and on. So I went to look. No dog outside, not a one. Then I heard this keening start up again and it finally got through my thick head it was from down the hall. There was little Louisa sitting on her bed, dressed in her outside clothes, trying to get her little duffel closed up. But she had too many clothes stuffed in it, and the zipper wouldn't close." He stopped.

"Go on."

"Oh, doc, the poor little kid. She wouldn't talk to me at first. But finally after she calmed down, and I dried her tears, she told me. You know what she was doing? Huh? She was leaving too! Her mum was gone, and I was moping around, trying to get work, keep a bit of food on the table, and keep some sort of normal going. But the landlord was breathing down my neck, the whole village was gossiping away about what a loser I was and little Louisa, little Louisa…"

"So she was running away?"

"Yeah, she wanted to. But you know why? Why?"

"Because you're a tosser of a dad?" I really could not see how this give and take could benefit anyone.

"Ellingham! Damn it you don't have to insult me! Of course I know I am rotten dad! My lord, I been in the clink way too many times in her life. Thank god she's got a brain on her shoulders, so she could get an education, have a job and a life! So don't you go tellin' me I bolloxed everything up! No _genius doc_, Louisa was running away because she thought she was the fault of her mum leavin'! That poor poppet was taking all the blame on herself! She was thinking that if she wasn't around, then her mum would come back!"

"Oh."

"She also thought that by running away, I would be happy!"

"Really."

"Yeah, doc. So you watch out; you just watch out." He sighed. "God help me, if I had half the sense of that girl in so many ways!"

"She might be smarter than both of us, Terry. Just as I decided to call off our wedding, she did as well."

"Oh?" Now he was puzzled. "Louisa's got her own ideas about right and wrong; happiness and unhappiness. So I'd think long and hard about..."

There was click and the line went dead. I sat stunned and felt it best to consider what Terry had said. His words stung as I replayed them, in my head, all the way to Newquay.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 – Motivation

There was another thing that was churning in my head on the drive south to Newquay. I was returning to the surgery after a home call near the top of the village early this Saturday morning before Terry Glasson phoned. There I found Joe Penhale putting a parking ticket on a car, which sat quite far from the curb.

"Hello, Doc!" he greeted me. "Looks like Louisa's parked her Ford a bit too far out in the street."

"Oh?"

"I measured it," he held up a measuring tape. "It's three whole inches further from the curb than it should be!" He held up thumb and forefinger some distance apart to show me. "Must be up here visiting parents, I guess."

I groaned aloud. Joe was a stickler for accuracy, but at least he was functional today. Too many days the poor fool was stuck inside his cottage, afraid to venture outdoors. "Do your job then, constable."

I started to walk away when the front door of the nearest cottage flew open and a red-faced woman marched out. I knew her; a short heavy woman named Spence. She had high blood pressure and incipient diabetes.

She waddled quickly to PC Penhale and got right in his face and started yelling. "What the bloody hell are you doing, Joe?" she yelled, her beefy face peering up at him.

"I'm writing you a parking ticket, Miss Spence."

"Parking ticket? A bloody parking ticket? Why don't you go bother someone else? You got some cheek giving me a ticket! My car is parked in front of my own cottage!"

That brought me up short so I stopped to listen.

Joe bristled back. "Your car? No, this is Louisa's! I recognize the make and plate number. Hers is a grey Ford and this is it! What sorta story are you tellin' me?"

The Spence woman poked a bony finger into his chest. "You bloody dope! It _used to _belong to Louisa Glasson. _Used to_! Get it? _I bought it from her_! Picked it up yesterday evening. Arse!"

Joe held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! Calm down now." He reached towards his belt burdened with the tools of his trade. "I'd hate to have to use pepper spray on you for assaulting an officer who was only doing his duty!"

"Joe! Stop it!" I shouted before I had to administer first aid for chemical attack. "Just write the ticket and go home!" Then I turned to the Spence woman. "You say this is your car now?"

"Oh, Doc Martin! Yeah, Louisa said she wasn't going to be needing it. Gave me _quite a deal_, I'll have you know, not that it's any of business of yours. Suppose I'm not quite used to it just yet. Nicest car I ever had and the steering is a bit different from my old Anglia." She tipped her head at the constable. "You think you can help me explain that to our bold policeman?"

"Right. Joe, give her a pass, will you?"

Joe looked disappointed for a moment but then smiled. "Right you are Doctor! Yeah. So now, the legal distance to park from the curb is with your wheels…" he pulled out a slim book and displayed a diagram. "See? What say I just give you a warning?" He pulled the ticket off the windscreen. "So you go get your keys and park your car legally." He winked at me. "Just want to keep Portwenn and her citizens safe, right?"

The woman glared. "Ok," she sighed. "Give me a minute." She shuffled into the house.

"Doc! Thanks for the help there," Joe said, totally unfazed. "I thought she was going to be _real_ violent. You know folks can do unexpected things! Can't trust them at times! There was this time see, in my old job up in…"

I bared my teeth at him and growled and he shut it.

The woman came back out, got into the car and in a few seconds had pulled it closer to the curbing. She climbed out and slammed the door. "There! Parked! Legal like! Are you happy now, Joe?"

"Look's about right. Let me just," he waved the tape measure into her sight, "measure it?"

"Or go measure yourself!" She stomped away and slammed the cottage door with great force.

Joe watched her go. "She better have a care there. The glass in those old doors can be shattered with a blow like that. Fragile, you know. Like some people can snap," he snapped his fingers, "like that."

"Yeah, right." I turned about and left Penhale to his little games.

I'd not moved more than a dozen paces when Joe called to me.

"Doc? Hey Doc?"

Now what? "Yes, Joe?"

He stood by the car holding the tape measure up for inspection. "She's parked it perfectly!"

I shook my head and went home, just in time for the call from Cardiff prison.

The call from Terry set me off in a quest for some peace, but of course as things usually went for me I got none, as I was found out by Mr. Porter. His intrusive presence and prying questions further upset me. One miserable thought led to another, until I found myself shivering in a rising breeze as an ocean wind came up, my head churning with unsettling thoughts. I'd not brought my raincoat with me and now regretted it as I stood shivering in the sea breeze.

At the last I pondered why Louisa sold her car? Did she need money? Was there something amiss? In spite of our current difficulties I would lend, if not give outright, all the money she needed.

But what would she need money for? The school was adequately, if not lavishly funded, and she owned her cottage.

But what about the trip she went on? It lasted two nights and then bought cleaning supplies upon her return. Then I was told that she had a long talk with Mr. Sands of the Portwenn school governors.

I was certain that she too had been pestered by nasty gossiping of Portwenn, in which, like most villages of 996 souls, there was entirely too much idle time. So the villagers filled their empty hours with chin wagging. I sighed. The exchange of the sentiments I heard at the chemist's was likely not the worst that was being bandied about _us_. But I had a thick skin. Certainly thicker than Louisa's I felt certain.

But I further mulled over the matter of the mystery trip, her long meeting with Sands and then today heard she had sold her car. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

This wool gathering did me no good as in the background I heard some sort of mechanical noise. It became loud enough for me to pay attention and looked up to see a large diesel truck carrying whirling brushes about cleaning the street. That got my attention so I had to trot back to the car and get in, just as the Newquay policemen stood to the side with his ticket pad in hand, but no pen in the other. So, I had beaten the hangman's noose. The cop waved as I drove off with the sound of the street cleaning machine chasing me.

But as I drove from Newquay, heading north towards Portwenn, there was a nagging voice that would not quit. Louisa's father told me that when she was aged eleven and her mum went off then she had every intention of running off as well.

"Louisa's got her own ideas about right and wrong; happiness and unhappiness," Terry told me at the end of our strange phone call.

All the pieces were now falling; trying to arranging themselves like a bizarre jigsaw puzzle.

Pauline said that Louisa had cried all night - the night we _did not_ get married. She made a comment later, I heard though the gossip vine, that the whole thing had been a mistake. But what if it wasn't the _whole_ thing? Just the_ last thing_?

If Louisa had been badgered half as much as I had been, and given her history of family issues, a bolting mum and an often jailed dad, plus _her own_ feelings of worry (she told me long ago that she worried about everything), my miserable attempts at romance, a hurried engagement under duress, _my own_ feelings of inadequacy and _my rude and awkward nature_ must have been added to hers and created a heavy burden. Was it too heavy for her to bear?

You don't need a car if you are living where there is plentiful public transport. Louisa went to university in town, _the_ Town. London. Holly, her argumentative friend from school, taught there. Louisa had gone away for two nights and part of three days – certainly long enough to get to Town and back. She was well dressed for the trip I'd been told and had personally seen her well-dressed self upon her return.

During the aftermath of the medical treatment of the lovesick children at the school, she and I were interrupted by Sand's phone call. The school secretary told Louisa that Sands was_ calling her back_. And Louisa said that she wanted to tell me _something_…

Might she be motivated to do something _rash_? No. She wouldn't? Would she? Could she?

I opened my mobile, scrolled down the directory to her mobile number. With the push of my thumb I could call her. _No. _Best to see her face to face for this.

I had to talk to her - tell her how I felt. How I was sorry, so sorry, and that I would be… I gulped… willing to change everything - everything about me. I would be willing _to try_ at least to make her happy.

Happiness, her father told me. Louisa needed happiness. _Happiness_ - the dreadful opposite being _unhappiness_. And if Louisa felt _one-tenth_ as much of the unhappiness that _I felt_…

My throat went dry and the steering wheel become slick under my sweaty hands. The road was nearly empty so I desperately pressed down on the accelerator pedal to impel the Lexus forward at an even greater speed.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – Walking Away

Outside the surgery Martin called after me. "Louisa, I'm…" he started to say.

I put my hand to his lips. I didn't want to hear what he had to say. Did he wish to say he was sorry or that he still loved me? Truthfully, I was afraid to hear what he _might_ say as it could very well stop me in my tracks.

"Me too," I said. "See you around."

I had gone to his cottage to drop off my letter not expecting to find him there. Was I ever surprised that he wasn't going to the church either! His comment that I wouldn't make him happy rankled. Then we argued about _who_ would have been leaving _whom_ at the altar. My letter was brief and to the point. I told I could not marry him and didn't really say why. Just said that I did love him, but I knew that if we did get married, he would be disappointed. That pretty much said it.

Our words grew heated until the dry cleaner interfered delivering Martin's clean suit and complaining about pain in his leg. At least Martin would have something to occupy him as I left.

As I turned and walked away down the hill I thought Martin might follow but he didn't. For all my bravado, there was still a catch in my throat and my eyes were threatening to fill with tears.

With each step there was a voice in my head calling out, "_NO! Go back you fool girl_! _You can't just walk away!_"

Fortunately, I was able to get back to my cottage, without anyone really seeing me. Oh, there were a couple of people here and there, but we couldn't invite everyone to our wedding, so I was fairly secure as I scurried to my house.

I pulled the door closed, closed the drapes in the front room and walked upstairs in a fog. The bedroom was quiet and cool; an open window let in the sea breeze. My veil lay on the bed where I had dropped it before I went to Martin's cottage. I picked it up and turned it this way and that, finally putting it down.

I lay down on my bed and rubbed my hands across it. I noticed the ceiling had a few cracks and it needed painting. The bed was soft and welcoming and I felt like I could lay there forever. After a time I rose, took off my wedding dress, hung it and the veil back on the cloth padded hanger, then into the storage bag it came in from the Truro shop. My wedding flats I slid back into their box then under the wardrobe. It was very strange to think that I'd likely never wear the dress again, but that would be true even if we had gotten married.

I stood in front of the mirror looking at my body dressed only in slip, bra, and pants, all special; all bought for our wedding. Our wedding – the one we just called off.

My face was blank as I turned this way and that. The glass showed a perfectly normal thirty-seven year old single female, who was comfortably employed as a Head Teacher in her own village, where she grew up. This spot was home, warts and all, but I knew it like the back of my hand. The pubs, B&Bs, the school, and shops, narrow lanes and white-washed houses were the community where I belonged.

I loosed the pins in my hair, brushed it out and swept into a ponytail. The loo was calling my name so I did what was necessary and then stripped off my underwear. I climbed into comfy clothing - an old bra and worn knickers, socks, cotton trousers and a jumper. With fuzzy slippers on my feet I padded downstairs.

My mobile was buzzing madly away on the kitchen table. Buzz - buzz, pause, buzz – buzz, pause. I switched it off, not caring who was calling. But I knew who it would be - Roger Fenn, Pauline, Joan Norton, even Joe Penhale; not that I cared. More important, if Martin called, I didn't want to speak to him. Not one bit! Nor was I ready to answer any questions, listen to comments or criticism from neighbors or even friends either!

I filled the kettle and got it going on the cooker. It was whistling a merry tune in a while and I brewed up the strongest tea I could manage. Scalding hot it went down, warming my chilly stomach, not that it helped that much. I needed something a lot stronger.

There was a chilled bottle of wine in the fridge, so I got it out, took a glass from the cupboard and held the corkscrew. I took the tool in my hands poised to plunge it into the cork, when I noticed my hands shaking. The quivering went on for a bit, so I put the bottle away and collapsed on the sofa.

I closed my eyes, pulled my legs up and held them tightly. This was how I'd curl up when mum and dad fought, which was often. I tried to take deep slow breaths, slowing willing myself back to normal; well, perhaps semi-normal.

"_Normal? My god Louisa you just called off your wedding to Martin Ellingham! You call this normal? You should be married as of this minute!" _went that little nagging voice in my head.

The voice was my own – the voice of self-doubt and I knew it all too well. She and I have had many conversations over the years.

I once admitted to Martin that I worried about everything. My job, life, where I was heading – all of it. He told me that everyone has doubts – best not to dwell on them. He said he dealt with them by keeping busy.

At least for a time I got Martin to keep busy with me and not rebuilding an old run-down clock.

"_Maybe if you were a clock, he could have fixed you?" _nagged the voice. _"He'd have known what to do! Those large hands holding steel tools, teasing little bits back into running order?"_

"Damn it! Shut up!" I yelled out loud. "I'm not broken!" Creased a little, yes; but not broken.

In a short while I felt much calmer. I analyzed my feelings. I wasn't sad exactly, more like relieved.

I had been fretting about the wedding; worries had built up. Pauline had gone to the church and I promised to follow. But there was something that held me back. Finally I wrote the letter to Martin. As I scrawled my regretful words, I felt _free._ Was this exactly what mum felt when she wrote to dad that she was leaving us? I knew the answer to that one.

"_You're not your mother!"_ went the nag.

"Damn straight!" I answered in a shout.

I had food in the fridge and pantry – leftovers from the luncheon today. I would not starve. I could safely hole up here for a couple days and let the storm blow over.

Then came loud voices outside my door; male and female. I groaned. Fists pounded on the wood, so I opened it. Roger and Pauline stood there, eyes bugging out and mouths open in shock when they saw me.

"Louisa," began Roger, "ah, we thought we should check on you? Thought you might have… uhm… run off? You ok?"

Pauline took one look at me then pushed Roger away saying, "Girl stuff, Roger! Sorry." She slammed the door and locked it. She put her arms around me. "You poor poppet, what's he done to you?"

I told her straight off that we'd both called it off - it wasn't Martin by himself.

"What?" Pauline yelled. "You BOTH called it off?"

I nodded dumbly.

That's when Pauline began sobbing hysterically.

"Pauline? Pauline!" I yelled to no avail. "You sound like _you're the one_ who called off her wedding!" I told her.

She dropped onto the sofa wailing and dripping tears. "That bloody bastard - Doc Martin!" She went on. "He can't be trusted, can he? Men! They're all alike!" Her arms went back around me and she did a very good job soaking my jumper with tears, snot, and spit.

So as Pauline wailed and cried, I was the one supportive of her, drying her tears, rubbing her back, bringing her tissues as she blubbered.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 – A Baby

I finally had to kick Pauline out of my cottage about nine Sunday morning. I had managed to get some sleep, restless as it was, with Pauline sniveling away in the other room. Our roles were definitely reversed – _I_ should be the one sobbing into my pillow, not _her_. But nothing lately seemed to be going the way I thought it might go. Not Martin, not our wedding, and certainly not me – all of it had been topsy-turvy.

I held onto the door frame practically pushing Pauline outside. "You sure you'll be ok?" I asked.

Pauline was red-eyed, fatigued, and shaky. She stood there in her bridesmaid dress, hair tousled and crushed, wearing an old shawl of mine against the morning dampness. "Oh, I suppose," she said sadly. "It's just not fair!" Tears started to trickle again.

Oh no. I patted her arm and brushed her hair smooth. "It will be ok. You go and get to bed, right?"

She nodded, sniffling into a tissue. "You call me later, alright? You shouldn't be alone at a time like this." She said it like there had been a death in the family.

"No, _I__'__ll_ be fine and so will you. You go sleep now."

Pauline staggered away, stumbling like she'd been up drinking all night. Well I suppose a bottle of wine and a twelve hour cry will do that to anybody. I didn't touch the wine, but she had. Well, I had plenty more wine. That wasn't my only bottle.

I sagged against the closed door for a few seconds, put my mobile onto the charger and then went to bed. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Much later I heard a tapping on the door. I ignored it. The tapping went on. In disgust I rose, and looked out the window. There stood Joan Norton peering into the front window through the drapes. The clock read two PM, so I had got some rest at least.

I threw on a dressing gown and padded downstairs. "Coming Joan!" I called and could see her smile timidly. When I opened the door, I saw she was holding a casserole. I braced one hand on the door and the other on the frame.

"Wanted to bring you something," said Joan. "Thought you might like some food and some company?"

"Well, I would like food. Not sure I'm up to company, though." I took the casserole from her, still warm, but kept the door braced at an angle with my hip.

"I see." She looked up and down the street. "Louisa, I…" she stopped and her chin quivered, "if there's anything you need, please let me know."

I put my free hand on hers and patted it. Why did I keep comforting other people? Maybe because I'd made my mind up that I _would_ be _alright_. Clearly other people were not very sure about me. "I'll be fine; I am fine."

"Yes, I thought you would be." She turned to her truck.

"Joan thanks awfully."

"Of course. What are friends for?" She climbed into the battered Toyota, gave me a half-hearted wave and drove away.

The door closed behind me and the aroma of the chicken casserole hit me like a cricket bat. It smelled good. Speaking of smells though, I could smell myself, and it wasn't delicious. A long hot shower both cleaned and revived me. I tucked into the casserole with my hair wrapped in a towel, feeling quite decadent, as I ate wearing only pants and my dressing gown.

After clearing away my dishes, I dried my hair, got dressed, and put on makeup. Then I left and drove in my little grey Ford to Wadebridge Hospital. Isobel, my matron of honor, was propped in bed, holding her new baby, barely twenty four hours old.

"Louisa!" Isobel shouted as she saw me. "Oh, how nice of you to come and see me. And on your honeymoon too! I guess the flight to Spain is tonight? Where's Martin or is he afraid of hospitals too?"

"No, Isobel. Oh, let me see your little boy!" I hugged her one armed, the other hand holding the flowers I'd bought her.

"Here, I'll take those." She sniffed the blossoms. "These are nice, Thanks! You want to hold him?" She handed the precious little thing into my arms. "Put the crook of your elbow under his head," she instructed, "and your other arm around him so you can't drop him."

"I do know how to hold a baby, Isobel." I did adjust my right arm, though, as she instructed me.

"Well, he's the only one I've got, so don't drop the little guy."

"Oh he is sweet." His head was covered with soft down and he had long eyelashes. His skin was soft like lambs skin. "Got a name?" The baby pouted a bit but kept sleeping.

"Yes! I picked out names ages ago. He is David named for mum's brother. Poor Uncle Davey, only boy in a family of four girls and he and his Lillian have three girls of their own. I thought it only right that there was a male in the family to have his name."

"That is nice. Middle name picked as well?"

Isobel sighed. "I suppose it will be Paul. Even though that tosser couldn't bear to actually marry me after he got me pregnant. Course he did have another girlfriend by that time."

"Oh really?" Best to change the subject. "You're fit?"

"Oh, yeah. That Doc Martin knows how to catch a baby. I'm perfect, but let me tell you, birthing David was no fun without drugs. Lord!" She rubbed her arms. "And they sure don't tell you in any of those birthing guides how knackered you'll feel after." She winced.

"Sore?"

"Yeah all the expected spots," she giggled. She looked down at her substantial chest. "And these girls of mine seem to be getting bigger by the minute! Nurse said that's expected. No real milk yet, but soon."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, then."

I handed David carefully back to her. "I don't want to tire you out, just popped by to see you."

"Yeah, I expect you need to be getting back for the honeymoon and all. You're off to Spain you said?"

I had made it halfway to the door as she asked the fateful questions. My heart leaped into my throat and my stomach fell to the floor. I stopped and looked down for a moment, but then my head rose up. I was going to have to answer _this_ question many times. Might as well get started; so I faced her squarely. "No, Isobel. Well… yes, it _was_ Spain. You see… Martin and I decided…" I took a deep breath, "we decided _not_ to get married."

"What? You mean… no marriage?"

"That's what I said."

"Oh dear." I saw a tear in her eye. "Sorry," she sniffed. "Must be hormones. The baby and all."

I nodded. "Sure. That must be it."

"Louisa, it's not my place to ask, but did you fight?"

"No. We didn't. It's like this… well… at the end there, it didn't seem like we'd get on. Martin can be _so_ grumpy and rude at times, it quite puts me off when he does that!"

"Ah," she answered. "And here you were yesterday defending him right and left while that Roger fellow and Pauline were cutting him up. Maybe they got to you? Just a little?"

I sighed and put on a brave face. "No, that wasn't it. So don't you go feeling guilty or anything."

She nodded as a nurse came in. "I'm sorry, miss," the staffer said. "I need to help her have another try at breast feeding. Perhaps you could come back later?"

"Right." Thankfully I headed to the door after giving Isobel and baby David kisses. "I'll come see you tomorrow, then?"

The nurse answered. "She should be here until Tuesday. Just want to keep an eye on her."

I smiled and waved but in the hall had to find a chair and sit down as I felt light headed and shaky as my heart was still banging away like mad. Oh God! Would _every_ conversation go just like that one?


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Journey

Back at the cottage that night I knew I had things to do. First off was my packed suitcase. It sat by the bed upstairs and I had been avoiding it like the plague if only for the memories it would stir up. After I ate some more of the delicious casserole Joan brought and some salad from the luncheon, I steeled myself for the task of unpacking it. I plodded upstairs and hoisted the think onto my bed and snicked the latches open.

There lay the clothes and things I'd packed for my wedding trip – the honeymoon. I peered at the folded clothes like there might be a snake or spider in there, but with shaking hands and thumping heart touched the pile.

Most things were pretty ordinary – shoes, trainers, flip-flops along with a sheer dressing gown, two new skirts and three pairs of shorts, some crop pants, light colored blouses and a sweater, underwear - both fancy and regular - my two swimsuits, a beach drape, and a cloth carryall. The worst of all was folded right on top.

I picked up the long yellow satin nightgown, trimmed with lace on the top and straps. It was sleeveless, long, and elegant. As I ran my hands over it I recalled things I was trying to forget. I slumped onto the bed with the garment draped on my lap, my hands clutching the folds.

Holly was taken off to hospital, that day, with multiple injuries – a strained spine, gash from a broken bottle in her back, likely sore spots where Martin had injected her at arm and chest and had zapped her with the heart machine paddles.

We watched her loaded into the ambulance. I looked at Martin and he stood there like anyone else. But he was special; I knew it. "That was brilliant," I said.

He tipped his head, embarrassed. "I'll get my bag," he said then went to the cottage.

I followed and he and I cleaned the worst of the bottle shards from the slate floor.

I watched his tall strong back turn as he hefted his medical equipment. Words came out before my mind really was working. "You're an _extraordinary_ man, Martin." A doctor afraid of blood, pulled into a terrible accident scene, and though nauseated and sick had carried through.

"No, I'm not," he said. He tipped his head and then walked past the frosted glass panel inside my front door. His footsteps stopped. "Marry me," he said.

"What was that?" I said in disbelief.

He walked past the panel so I could see his face. "Please, Louisa, I can't bear to be without you. Will you _marry_ me?" he asked softly.

Oh my God. "Yes." I took running steps. "Yes, Martin I will!" I threw myself at him, leapt up and threw arms around his broad shoulders and hung there in his return clinch, and I knew I never wanted to be anywhere else than with him.

I sighed sitting on my bed; the bed where I had lain for many sleepless nights fretting about myself, my job, and about… Martin. I ran a hand over the bedspread.

It was also where we made love the first time. He was nervous and so was I. I was no virgin. There was a mostly forgotten boy from school in London who I loved or thought I did once. But I tried to put aside my nervousness with Martin, my… fiancé… that night. We weren't children, or old-fashioned, just two people that loved one another, in spite of our fears and feelings of inadequacy and for all of our differences. At least that was how I felt at the time.

Our snogging after I fixed a quick dinner downstairs was more than enjoyable – all the pent up tension coming out at last. "Martin," I said, coming up for air after an especially deep kiss, "we can go… _upstairs_… if… you want to?" From the way his hands had roved over me, I certainly did.

He sat on the sofa with a concerned look. "We could… if you want to… or I could go."

"Martin. Stay, please?"

"Alright."

I kissed his cheek and stood up, holding onto his hands. "Come on," I said, "walk a girl upstairs." He came upstairs willingly but warily. His caution was evident, in the way he held his arms, body rigid, and his restrained expression.

Our shoes came off first, then my blouse, stained with a little blood from Holly, but Martin didn't seem to care. The jeans went next and the socks. A bit shy his hands shook as he tried to unbutton my shirt and I had to help him out of that stuffy suit. He carefully folded his trousers and put the suit coat and shirt on a chair.

He stood there in the dimness in boxers and vest stripping off his socks. "Uhm…" he began, "I think I should…" he waved down the hall.

"Of course, Martin, you're allowed to go the loo."

"Right." He disappeared.

I stripped off, then pulled a clean nightgown and pants from the dresser. I usually wore pyjamas, but… well, this was special. The gown was long and beige, made of ultra-soft cotton, with short sleeves, scoop neck, and three tiny pearly buttons down the front. I heard the toilet flush, then water run in the sink, so I dressed quickly, pulled my ponytail loose, ran a brush through it, then added a splash of perfume and then hopped under the covers.

And one more thing. I opened the bed stand and found the pack of contraceptives I bought ages ago. I peered at the 'use by' date, and they weren't that old. Probably be ok. I had bought them when Danny Steele was coming around. Though he was keen on me; too keen, I thought, I'd bought them anyway - just in case. Danny and I did not go to bed together, not that he didn't try to, more than once. I tried to lie there casually, although this was anything but a casual moment.

Martin came into the bedroom shyly. "You're flush valve is leaking."

"Yeah, it does that. Don't worry about it." I patted the bed. "Come here, Martin."

So he climbed under the covers and rolled towards me nervously. "Louisa… uhm… we don't have to do this, if you don't want to." He now lay inches away from me and was still on guard.

I hugged the man. "Of course, I want to, Martin." He smelled nice.

"But… what about… uhm… contraception?"

I handed him a packet. "Here."

"Oh," he said and grinned.

I caressed his face and kissed him. "I love you Martin."

He smiled, almost the first really honest smile I've ever seen on his face. For once, I knew that Martin Ellingham, amazing Doctor, and my fiancé was happy. "I love you Louisa."

Clearly, Martin was no virgin, either, nor did I expect him to be. He was very well read or had an excellent fantasy life. It was both sweet and amazing. After, he held me close and stroked my back. Sleep was trying to claim me, but I wanted this moment to last. "Martin?"

"Yes?"

"Did you imagine this would happen? I mean our engagement?"

He sighed. "No. If Holly hadn't been injured… today, well, then I'd not have seen you tonight, would I?"

"Suppose not." I twisted his short hair with one hand. I was afraid to ask if he'd planned the proposal so I kissed his cheek.

He murmured something I didn't catch.

"What Martin?"

He pulled his face from my neck and looked into my eyes. "You can't imagine how long… I wondered…"

"Yeah, me too," I answered.

"Louisa…"

"Martin…"

He cleared his throat. "Thanks. For accepting… the proposal."

"You're welcome!" I laughed and hugged him tightly.

He twisted his head around. "So we're a couple, then?"

"Yes. Happy?"

"Very," he said and put his arms tightly about me.

It had been a very long way, but we were finally where we belonged.

The new nightgown I'd bought for our honeymoon was special. The shop in Truro had to order it for me from London. The one hanging in their shop window was dusty and had a loose thread on the hem. I wanted this item to be special and this was just what I wanted. Smooth, soft, and beautiful.

I sat up on the bed, folded the garment, and packed it into the bottom dresser drawer, under an extra blanket and some jumpers. I caressed it as it lay there. "Poor thing. All this long journey, and here you lie in a bottom drawer, not to be used."

I put the other things away in drawers and on hangers too. The toiletries went to the bathroom and I washed my face. It was getting on to eight o'clock and I was tired. I put the suitcase in the back of the closet and smoothed the bedspread. The bottom drawer of the dresser called out to me though.

I knelt down, pulled it open, and took out the jumpers I'd stuffed back inside. There lay the nightgown.

I hesitantly put out a hand and stroked its shiny softness. "Sorry," I said to it.

Right then my tears started and fell in a terrible flood.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 – Monday Blues

When I was in college in London, one of my classmates went through a terribly public bust-up with her boyfriend. There was shouting, yelling, and screaming, as well as thrown beer bottles in a pub when it all went wrong. The next day I saw her in the corridor outside the lecture, where her ex-guy, was teaching the recitation.

"So," I asked as I sidled up to her, as she stood with a look of 'trying to get her nerve up.' "How are you?"

"Fine," she answered and brushed her long blonde hair from her eyes. "Now I'm fine, without him."

"But he's teaching the class!"

"Yeah. Well, screw him! I'm just gonna act like nothing is wrong." She marched into class and got on with her life like nothing had happened.

That was my plan too. I got to my desk early as there was always paperwork to do and was hard at work when Sally Chadwick, the secretary, came in.

"You're here?" she asked from the doorway, seeming flustered to me. "I'd have thought…"

"You thought what?"

"I mean, might you want to take a couple days off? After all…"

"No. I'm here. Work is here and there's plenty to do."

"Alright, if you say so." She backed up to the door but then came round the desk to me. "So, how are you?"

"Fine. I'm doing fine."

She patted my shoulder softly. "You poor dear. What happened? We sat there for the longest time. We all thought you might have eloped."

I sighed. "Sally, we decided, _both_ of us, not to go through with it."

"Just like that? Oh dear."

"Yes, pretty much. Martin and I…"

"You what?"

I sighed. "We're still… we just won't be married, get married, I mean…"

"Then you'll see one another? The wedding's postponed, really?'

I shook my head side-to-side. "No, Sally. We won't. And there will be no wedding." This was harder than I thought it would be.

"Oh dear." She sighed. "These things happen." She hugged me quickly then walked away but stopped at the door. "Need a cuppa?"

"That would be nice. Thanks." She smiled and went away and I blew out a shaky breath. I bent my head down over the attendance tally sheets when Trudy barged in. She gave me the same routine.

Trudy could be timid at times and today was no different. "So, Louisa, about my class…"

"Yes?" I looked up and saw Trudy standing in front of my desk with tears running down her face. "Oh, Trudy, whatever is the matter?" I stood and took her hands.

Trudy, probably the most fragile of my staff, looked away. "I don't know if I can teach today."

I knew that she had issues but had been doing well these past months. "Something wrong?"

She sniffed and wiped her face with a tissue I gave her. "Thanks. I've been upset, about you and the Doc."

"Oh, we're alright. We're grownups. Don't you worry about us."

"What happened? My date and I spent half the night talking about it. We've been going together quite a while, and this gave us some hard thoughts."

I hugged her. "Trudy, we just decided not to get married. For us, it would not work, that's all."

"Ok," she whispered.

"Now you go back to the classroom, the kids will be here right soon."

She stumbled away and was followed by Sam. Sam taught history and physical education. He was married and about my age.

"Hey, Louisa! What happened Saturday?"

I was getting very tired of telling the story. "Sam, we're not getting married, that's all."

"Oh? Hm. Well I always felt there was something about you two… I mean the Doc… that just wasn't right. Not surprised he ran."

"Sam? Martin did not run! We both agreed to not get married!"

"Sure, whatever you say. My Katie and me we had a lot of doubts. We actually had two different wedding dates. First time she got cold feet, second time was me, but we went on. It's worked out. But that Doc Martin, he's a bit shifty for my tastes. Maybe you're well rid of him."

"Sam! No! It's not like that at all!" In the background I heard the rush of little shoes down the hall. "Cripes. The kids are here. Best get to work!"

"Alright. But mark my words he probably never wanted to go through with it!" He left my office and I was crushed.

Martin wasn't that way at all! Not a bit! Oh, he was rough around the edges…

My nagging voice started inside my head – 'Louisa, why are you defending the man? He's a tosser to the core, right?'

"No!" I shouted just as Sally came back with the tea.

"Everything alright? I heard you telling." She put the mug down. "Something I can do?"

I sighed. "Sorry. No, I'm fine. Thanks for the tea."

"Sure."

The school day started. The kids got tallied and totaled up. The two or three absence notes were read, filled, ok'd or not. And the school day went on. My staff all asked the same questions at lunch and on the playground. What, who, and why were the most popular words.

And throughout the usual routine, I felt sad and disappointed, both in Martin and myself, while keeping a fake smile plastered on my face. A million questions and regrets were swirling inside and there was no one I could talk to. It killed me; just killed me.

So much for carrying on - so much for acting like _nothing_ happened.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 – Left

I rushed to visit Isobel after school and was heading down the hospital corridor when I heard shouting and crying from near her rooms so I moved faster and burst into her room. Isobel was being pawed over by a tall dark-haired man, but she didn't seem to mind much.

"Isobel?" I asked.

She pulled her mouth from his, as he squatted next to the chair she was seated in, his arms about her shoulders. "Louisa! Oh this is fantastic! You remember Paul? Paul Hardesty?"

I didn't really but tried to sound like I did. "Oh sure, hi!" I waved sheepishly.

"Louisa Glasson, right?" the man said and let Isobel go, then rushed over and crushed me in a bear hug. "So nice to see you again."

I had a very vague recognition of seeing the man, perhaps once, for all of two or three minutes, long ago. "Didn't know you were coming… to see Isobel… and the baby."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. When Izzie called Saturday I dropped everything and got out here. Got in late last night, didn't I luv?"

Isobel (he called her Izzie?) smiled. "Bit of a surprise."

Or a shock? "So, Paul, you've come to see the baby," I said blankly. "Just swooped in from London, is it?"

"Aye! When she called about the babe I just had to come…"

Isobel looked up brightly. "Paul and I…" she reached out for his hand, "we're going to get back together."

"Oh, right. That is nice. Good for you!" I bit my tongue before I said more. Isobel had said how the man had rushed away when she revealed she was pregnant by him. Then he took up with another girl.

Paul smiled at me. "My luck, you know. I've been trying to talk to Izzie but she wouldn't answer my calls… well, you can just imagine how keen I've been to see her; what with the baby and all."

I looked at Isobel and her eyes asked me to 'play nice.' "I'm happy for both of you," I replied.

Isobel tugged at Paul's hand. "Louisa, this is all so sudden, but you know how things can go at times? You could have knocked me over with a feather when he waltzed in."

I looked hard at Isobel, her face was almost sickeningly pleased that Paul was here, although he had dumped her for months. I guess she must be desperate or hormonal.

'Now Louisa,' said my nagging voice, 'give Isobel credit for having _some_ sense! She'll need help and money and Paul is well employed. Didn't she say so last week?'

I counted days mentally. Yeah she told me only a few days ago and it was true. Now Isobel was all agog about the guy? I had a sneaking suspicion that from the way she was looking in awe at Paul, and he at her, that within three months she'd be up the duff. I sighed. Well, her funeral.

"I'm happy for you both, and little David too." I told them, and tried to make it sound like I meant it.

"Thank you, Louisa," said the man. He turned a charming smile to Isobel. "So, luv, what say I go and get the car?" He left the room in a hurry.

"What? You're being discharged?" I was astounded.

Isobel ducked her head. "I meant to call you; let you know, but here you are. Paul's booked a hotel down the way. We'll stay there for a few days and then back to London. He's got a really nice flat there and his mum and sisters live nearby, so I'll have plenty of help with the baby."

"If you think that's for the best," I muttered under my breath.

"What's that Louisa?" she asked.

I painted on a fake smile. "Nothing."

"All such a rush is Paul - his whole family is that way. Always on the spur of the moment, but I like planning." She ran her hand along the Moses basket where the baby lay asleep. "Well, usually," she laughed.

That made me chuckle too.

"Louisa, come here."

I walked over and she stood and gave me a hug. "Sorry this is all so sudden; the baby, Paul showing up, and…"

"It's ok, Isobel." I held my friend tightly for a moment. "Is this what you want, Isobel?"

She bit her lip and her eyes grew wet. "It'll work out. Paul just panicked back then. Men do that, you know."

Women too, I'd found out. "For your sake, I hope so." I kissed her cheek.

"We're just a bit off with men aren't we? Both of us; all things considered? So how are you doing?"

"Gosh, I'm fine. Really."

"No second thoughts?"

I chewed my lip before answering. "No… well, maybe a few." One was that maybe I should not have gone to bed with Martin.

"Naw! I think you should have shagged him a lot more, then you'd still be with him!' yelled my internal nag.

I tried to force a smile back to my face, but my handbag started twisting, almost by itself – a nervous habit. The smile failed and I started to bite my lips.

Isobel brushed hair from my face and patted my cheek.. "You'll do fine, Louisa. If I know you, you're made of steel."

"I hope so," I told her and hugged her tightly.

Paul found us like that when he came back with a nurse to complete the hospital checkout. So I pretty much stood in the background while forms where signed, pamphlets handed over, and general instructions given. I helped Paul load the rental car with Isobel's things, including her suitcase which I brought from the pub yesterday.

"Thanks for caring for my Izzie," said Paul.

"My pleasure," I said. "She's a lovely girl and you have an awfully cute baby."

"Aye, you're right. I want you to know… I was a total arse to leave her like that. I've seen the error of my ways. She'll never want for nothing; I promise."

I squeezed his arm. "I'm sure you'll do your best," I lied. I didn't trust him from all the dirt Isobel had passed on to me over the last few months.

I stood and waved as they drove off, my ears ringing with promises of phone calls, emails and visits. Somehow I knew that good intentions would suffer from middle-of-the night feedings and learning how to be a mum and partner.

"Bye!" I called to them and waved myself silly as they drove away.

A nurse's aide stood there holding the wheelchair which they'd insisted Isobel ride in. The woman sighed wearily.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Nothing. Friend of theirs?"

"Yes, hers. Why?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "I've seen this happen before. The poor mum out to here," she indicated a pregnant belly with her hands, "all alone, then the man shows up all hearts and flowers." She shook her head sadly. "I'll bet in four or five months, she'll be on her own, with that young'un to raise herself - all alone." She peered at her watch. "Oh, my break time! See you."

"Bye," I called to her as the woman walked back inside. I turned to catch a glimpse of Isobel as the car went down the drive, but she didn't look back, as I waved, so I was left all alone standing on the hospital portico, feeling quite deserted.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 – Business

Tuesday was about the same as Monday with my teachers sniffing around the edges of the 'Louisa and Martin' business as I heard Alicia call it.

"Business? It's mine and his, Alicia, not yours!" I hissed at her in the staff room over lunch.

"Sorry, Louisa. Well what you call it, then?"

"Uhm… an issue; an event."

"Like an earthquake event?" she looked very hard at me. "When I hear of things like this, it breaks _me_ out all in gooseflesh."

"Oh," I said toying with the carrot sticks that were the last of my lunch. I looked around to make sure no one was near. Since we ate in shifts to mind the students at lunch and play, there shouldn't be. I lowered my voice. "Alicia, how in bloody hell do you think I feel?"

She patted my arm and dipped her head nearer. "I am sorry." She drew out the last word. "I don't want to stir up any trouble, especially after what I heard Monday."

"Oh? Like what sort of trouble?"

She dropped her voice and whispered. "I heard that some have been ditching Doc Martin in droves. Been blaming him for your bust-up!" She stabbed the table with a fingertip for emphasis. "And it's my guess that _more_ than half is his fault!"

"But what would our wedding… our non-wedding, have to do with his medical practice? Very odd."

She smiled grimly. "I suppose they think if he dumped you, maybe he's not such a good doctor."

"That's absurd! Doctor Ellingham is the finest doctor Portwenn ever had! If it wasn't for him, any number of people would be suffering or even worse!"

Alicia patted my arm. "Nothing you can do about it."

"No; suppose not."

"I know."

"Still, I'd hate for people to have to drive to Wadebridge or to Truro for God's sake for medical care, because of us!"

Alicia's voice dropped further. "And I was at the fish seller and that Mrs. Pilfred was going on about how maybe if _you_ took a firm hand with him, this would not have happened."

"Oh, really?" I asked archly. "And just what business is it of hers?"

"Exactly. I told that cow straight off that was _total_ nonsense."

I sighed. "The woman's not a cow; heavy or otherwise. That's not fair."

"Well, all the same. I told her off good and proper." She looked at her watch. "Back to class."

"Oops! Look at the time. I told Sam I'd spell him on the playground." I went down the hall and outside. The kids were playing at various things, with Sam way over there by the gate. His back was to the kids and I saw several things I didn't like. Kids throwing balls much too hard, throwing gravel, along with pulling of hair and yanking of arms.

I clapped my hands, more in anger at Sam, than the children. "ALRIGHT YOU LOT!" I shouted. "If you can't behave, then inside! All of you. Line up! Straight away, now!"

Sam turned guiltily at my shout, stubbed out a cigarette and rushed towards me, yelling at the kids as he ran. "That's it! Go on you, come on! Inside, NOW!"

The students protested of course and whinged about lost playtime and such.

"I don't care!" I shouted back. "If you can't behave properly on the play yard then play time is over!" I was madder at Sam than at the kids. The children lined up reluctantly then slowly entered the building, grumbling as expected.

Sam had a guilty look on his face as the last kid went inside. "I didn't mean for that to happen. Sorry."

"Sam? Smoking on the playground? That is not the behavior that I expect one of my teachers to exhibit! What were you thinking?"

"Not much."

"I'll talk to _you_ later."

"Ok," he said quite cross. "You're the boss lady. Whatever you want, you get!"

"Sam!" I shouted at his back but he was gone. Everyone was out of sorts today. I picked up an errant football by the gate at the street and as I did, Mrs. Clumb walked past. "Hello, Mrs. Clumb," I called out.

She ducked her head and answered in a low voice. "Lo."

"What, not happy today?"

She stopped walking and came back to me. "No, I'm not."

"Dear. What's the matter?"

"Like I should be talking to the likes of you!"

"What? Have I done something to offend you?"

"This is all _your_ fault," she said and shook a gnarled finger in my face.

"What have I done?"

"It's not you. It's the two of you!" she snarled.

"Oh, really." I could tell tar and feathers were being prepared. "Do you want to tell me why you are so cross, so we can discuss it?"

She clamped her lips together but then words came out through her yellow teeth. "Look. My cousin, she comes into town every month to have her sugar checked by the doc."

I knew her cousin had diabetes. "So?"

"And when she comes into town we have a nice lunch, then we sit a bit then go for a drive. She lives up Delaboe way."

Delaboe was only a few miles away so why was this World War Three? "Yeah… so…"

"So, she just told me that she can't imagine coming to see your Doc Martin ever again! She's going to Wadebridge from now on."

"And just how does that reflect on you, or me?"

"She comes with a whole load of veg, most times, and they are the nicest cabbages, carrots, and broccoli you ever seen! What I don't eat I sell to the market!" She shook a fist in my face. "You're costing me a right good number of Pounds! That's food on my table! Stealing it right out of my pocket!"

I reared away quite hurt and hot. "Sorry you're _so_ inconvenienced. Sorry that my lack of a wedding," my breath caught in my throat for a second, "has hurt YOU!" I turned to go, but she grabbed my arm.

"You and all them Glasson's," she snarled, "thieves, the lot of you!"

Did she say that? "What? How can you be so mean? My dad… I can't excuse what he did and I won't! Do you want his address up Cardiff way behind bars so you can write and vent your petty anger on him? Well? DO YOU!"

Mrs. Crumb withered a bit at my shouting. "Still you've done us all harm, girl! Right under our own noses! I thought we could trust _you_ at least!"

I put hands on my hips so I didn't slap the old woman. "Harm?" I felt a tear run down my cheek. "Trust?" I ground my teeth together in sorrow but spat out a few words. "You have NO idea how much _you_ have hurt _me_ with your vile words." Stomping away from her was the best thing to do and I went very fast, into the school, down the hall, and to my office.

I sniffled and wiped my wet cheeks the whole way, only wanting to get to my office, shut the door and be by myself. But no, Sam sat in the visitor's chair so privacy had to be forgotten. I swiped at my cheeks and held my head up. "Sam?"

He looked up at me. "Louisa, I am sorry. It won't happen again. Been all edgy, you know? I've been trying to get off those things, but I can't just go cold turkey. Guess I need some of those nicotine patches."

I tried not to look him in the face. "Ok. Apology accepted."

He stood. "No hard feelings?"

I looked at the floor "Ok," I lied. I'd wanted to really tear into him, but what Mrs. Crumb dropped on me was so painful, I'd only be dumping that on him. I thought everybody was beyond all the Terry Glasson business, but apparently not. I turned my back to him and peered at the wall clock. "Gosh, look at the time. Got to make a phone call."

"Right. Sorry, for what I said and did!"

I nodded at him. "Close the door would you?"

"Sure." He went away and when the door closed I could only stand there weeping silently for a few minutes. In time I stopped, dried my tears, blew my red nose, and sat at the desk.

I scooped out my mobile, scrolled down my contact list, and pressed a name on it. It buzzed right off and was answered.

"Holly?" I asked. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 – Telling

"Louisa? How are you? How was the wedding? Is Martin everything you thought he would be? And how is Barcelona?" Holly's voice boomed at me from my mobile's tiny speaker.

"Well, there are a number of things I need to tell you."

"Oh? What? Is it raining in Spain?" she chuckled. "Sorry. I guess the odd pain pill I've been taking has me a bit loopy. My spine is still not good." Holly had hurt her back in a fall by the Portwenn breakwater and it was her injury which led to Martin proposing to me.

"I know. Shame you couldn't be here Saturday." I had to say that, even if I didn't feel that way. "But Holly…"

She interrupted. "I have friends who've stayed at 'El Real' and they loved it!"

"Yeah… you see, Holly," I stammered. "I, uhm… we… well, we thought… all in all…"

"Louisa, whatever are you trying to say? Spit it out girl!"

"You remember when you came to the village and you got hurt?"

"Of course, dear! How can I forget? Although I must say my exit from your lovely little village was rather fuzzy. Considering how your Martin tried to kill me…"

"Holly! Come on! He didn't give you morphine to hurt you! He didn't know you were sensitive to the drug!"

"I know, I know." She laughed. "I'm lying here in a back brace with a hole in the side over the dressings where that broken bottle went straight into my side. I can't really move much at all and the damn telly is all stupid game shows and dramas. God! Sorry! Just feeling a bit sorry for myself. But I have to tease a little right? So how are things going? Has he been keeping you, uhm, busy? How is he in the romance department?"

I sighed and looked at the office door to make sure it was closed. "Holly, please? Can I do this my way?" Thankfully she stayed quiet and let me catch a breath. "So…" I really should have thought longer before I called her. I guess that is what panic can do to you. Sort of like last night I was in the market and Chloe, the dry-cleaner's wife was button-holing me about our decision.

"Louisa, so you… just decided to take a _pass_?" Chloe was tall and thin and stood right next to me with her spidery arms around me. She was also one of those people whose sense of personal space was about a foot less than anyone else's – uncomfortably close.

I pulled my head back a few inches as she stared me right in the eye. "I suppose that's one way to put it."

"Just like that?" She snapped her fingers.

No, not like that at all. "No, Chloe…" I stopped to think. "The change was coming for a long time; days and days. I suppose…" Why was I telling her this? Maybe I just needed to talk, really talk to someone. "Chloe, maybe I was wrong."

"About what?"

I looked about the market and only saw Maggie the shop keeper across the way. I whispered into her ear. "Martin can be… difficult at times."

Chloe laughed. "Luv, all men are."

"But he can be so sweet at others. Like… uhm, you don't need to hear about that." I almost slipped and told her about him in bed! God what was I thinking?

But I've known Chloe for years and years. She sewed my graduation dress for me when I was eighteen and didn't have time to finish it. I sighed. Louisa, you need _one_ really good friend, and the ones you have are scattered about the landscape.

Chloe hugged me. "Take a care Louisa. Don't get too deep into second thoughts. It's happened, right? Over?"

"Yeah." I chewed my lip for a few seconds. "Maybe the whole thing was a mistake?"

"The _whole_ thing?" Her eyes flew open. "Everything? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh… I don't know. Maybe just the last bit."

"Just the last bit? Which last bit? You're confusing me. Calling off the wedding, or your soul searching?"

I could only stand there and ponder her words.

"Louisa? Louisa? You still on the line?" Holly's questions popped my back to today dragging me from last evening.

"Sorry Holly. I'm still here."

"Whatever you have to say, hurry up! This call will cost you a fortune!"

I swallowed hard. "That's the thing, Holly. I'm not in Spain. I'm still in Portwenn."

"Are you sick? Is Martin sick? What's happened?"

I breathed deeply and mentally dove into deep water. "Holly, Martin and I won't be getting married." As the words came out, it was somehow easier telling Holly than telling anyone else; even Martin.

"I knew it. I just knew it! The bloody tosser! He's shagged you and dropped you! You poor dear! If I wasn't stuck in this bed, I'd get right out there, find him, and kick him straight in the…"

"Holly! Stop!" Why was I stopping her? "No need to rip on the man!"

"Well you tell me why not then?"

That was a very good question.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – The L-word

Holly had asked me a _very_ good question. Why was I defending Martin? Where to begin?

To begin with, Martin was… Martin. He could be and was, mostly, rude, obstinate, over-bearing and oh-so-sure of his own knowledge and opinions. I sighed into my mobile. "Oh, you know." But behind his eyes, hiding under the layers, is a little very real hurting and hurtful person, trying to both get out and hide.

"No, I don't! Why don't you explain it to me?" She laughed. "I'm certainly not going anywhere stuck here in my bed in London. I can feed myself and get to the loo, but at the moment that's it."

"On Saturday… oh, God, it was dreadful! Everybody around me was chattering away with excitement about our wedding, and wondering out loud what an awful husband Martin would be. I got so fed up with Pauline, Isobel, and Roger Fenn! They descended on me around noon, like it or not, with lunch. What was supposed to be a nice sit down turned into a… a… Martin put-down party! I even shouted at them! Said something like 'no one else sees what I see in Martin!' Shortly after that outburst I rushed out, and poor pregnant Isobel followed me, up on the headland. All I really wanted was some fresh air and a little time to think."

Holly cleared her throat. "Did that happen; getting time to think?"

"Gosh no. Poor Isobel went into labor and I had to call Martin. He ran right up there, you know the spot; we walked there to the bench at the top of the path. It was there that Martin delivered Isobel's baby. Plenty of fresh air, but no peace I'm afraid."

"So Ellingham is an accomplished baby catcher as well?"

"No; first one he delivered. I have to say though that he knew what to do."

"So when you need medical help, Ellingham is always who you call."

"No! Yes! Well, he is our GP, right?"

Holly sighed into my ear. "Louisa Glasson, is it just me but in spite of what I know, and all the dirt you coughed up on the man the weekend I blew out my back, you still have a soft spot for the man?"

"God, Holly! Of course I do! Jeeze. You think I can just switch my feelings for Martin on and off like a light? After all, we were engaged!"

"Seemed to me that you did that with the other fellow. What was his name? David Steele, that it?"

"_Danny_ Steele. But Danny and I go way back, to second form; a very old friend. He was quite keen on me; too keen, in fact. And NO, I was not engaged to Danny!" I flashed on a night when a very amorous and drunk Danny had to be pushed out of my cottage to stop _something_ from happening. He wanted me too much and I… "That's different, Holly! I don't love Danny."

"What's that?"

"I said I don't love Danny, erh… I mean I didn't love Danny, the way I love Martin!"

"Oh," she said slowly. "You just did it, Louisa."

"What?"

"My God, you have no idea do you?" I heard her breathe heavily. "You said it just then. You said 'I love Martin.'" I could almost imagine Holly shaking her head from side-to-side in faraway London. "I heard you say it plain as day. It might as well be written across the sky in flaming capital letters a mile high. I LOVE MARTIN! Present tense. The L-word."

No, can't be. No way. But… but… my mind stuttered. Well, maybe. Was it true?

'Of course it's true, Louisa!' started that nagging voice in my head. 'That's what's killing you right now! You love Martin, always have. Even though he has behaved in the most awful ways to you or others, you _still_ love him!'

"Why?" I said aloud and Holly answered.

"Louisa Glasson, because there is not a mean bone in your body," she said tenderly. "You have always been kind to strangers, rude people, and stray dogs. Martin is a stray dog you've picked up and you can't bear to ditch him, even though he smells, bites, growls, and makes messes on your carpet! You must like dogs."

"He doesn't mean to do that! And we _never_ had a dog when I was a kid."

"See? I'm right. Even when he's been the rudest person in the world to you, there has always been this deep-down core of forgiveness in you. You're always ready to forgive, even the worst things."

'She is right, Louisa! You can't see it! You are just too close to the problem,' said my nag. 'So if you're going to forgive Martin for being Martin, then what about you? Will _you_ forgive you?'

"What do you mean?"

Holly sighed. "I think, girl, that you need to get out of there. Get some distance between you. See what happens. In time, you may find… God! I sound like one of those namby-pamby relationship counselors! And I still don't understand what you saw in him from the first."

I understood what I was hearing. "You may be right," I told both Holly and the nag. "But what can I do?"

"Ah, well… when I was out there, just before I totally destroyed my back on those slimy sea rocks, I was mentioning that I know just the school for you; here in London. I know they're still searching for a good English and History teacher. You would be just the thing."

"Well, I'll think about it."

"And one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Louisa, you have to give him the ring back and do it _quickly_. Best to get it behind you. All part of the process."

"Oh." I'd been thinking about that part. "Just give it back?" I took off the engagement ring when I got to my cottage after telling Martin I couldn't marry him. It was sitting in an antique box on my dressing table at this moment, lid open.

"Yes! I know that the marriage books say that the bride should keep it. But what would you do with it? Polish it and clean it every year? Keep it as a souvenir of this failed adventure? And if you sold it… well, that makes it seem like it was all for money, doesn't it?"

"You may be right." I looked at the clock on the wall. "Holly I have to ring off. Got work to do."

"Think about what I said! If you can put up with me and my drugged-up self there's always room for you _here_. And get rid of that ring he gave you. The picture you sent is ghastly, so old-fashioned. Maybe then you can stop thinking 'I love Martin!'"

"You may be right," I told her humbly, yet I didn't appreciate her comments about the looks of the ring. "It was his grandmother's ring."

"Should have bought new," I heard her mutter. "Look, what I really don't understand is what happened. What _did_ happen or _didn__'__t_ happen?"

"We could tell… uhm, we could tell… I mean," this was very hard to say, "that it wouldn't work out."

"Oh." Holly sighed. "Poor Louisa. Better to know that now, than later I suppose."

"Well, bye, Holly."

"Goodbye Louisa. Take care."

I switched off the mobile and sat there thinking about the 'L-word;' all it meant and was supposed to mean.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 – Trust

When I left school that Tuesday, I was trying to keep my mind on the task on hand – buy some bread, fish and some potatoes. Pretty simple. But no. My short shopping list meant three stops; the market, the fish-monger and the baker. Each shop I went to I was approached by curious people. Their questions were all about the same. They asked how I was, how was Martin, and what happened? As I tried to deal with them and their concerns the conversation with Holly echoed in my head. Love? Was I still in love with him?

I pretty much deflected the villagers with bland answers. I answered I was fine (not true) to the first question. As for Martin, I did not know (that much was true) and I said so. The last answer was that we'd changed our minds, which was very truthful. As to why, I would not tell.

"Changed your minds?" asked Mr. McManus, the baker's assistant. He was old and wrinkled, much older than Bert Large, and his hair was as white as the flour he used, but underneath he had bottomless brown eyes and a kindly manner.

Thankfully this was my last stop. I was getting very fed up with people and was getting cross. "Yes. Are those wheat rolls I see back there?" I pointed into the display case.

"Yep. Fresh this morning."

"Fine, I'll take four, please."

He dropped the rolls into a sack. "Anything else?"

"Just the loaf, here," I touched the rye loaf in a basket by the register.

He added the loaf to the sack and then rang it up. "Scan your card?"

"Oh, yeah," I dug it out of my purse and ran it through. "Aren't computers wonderful?"

"Swell," he sneered. "So about the other thing?" He stood there holding the bread bag hostage just out of reach.

I sighed. Was I going to go through this every time I went out? "Seamus, I told you. We changed our minds."

"Oh," he stood there with his mouth open.

"Can I have my bread?" I reached for the bag.

"Right." He came round the counter and gave it to me. "I saw you go up the hill on Saturday, to the Doc's I guess, then come straight back down. Was that it? That's when you told him?"

"Yes," I said testily. "Look," I told him quietly. "I don't want to be going through this all the time. Ok? But that is when I went to see Martin, we talked, and I went home."

He nodded. "Sorry Louisa, didn't mean to pry. I really am sorry. None of my business. And I want you to know that I don't hold with what some are sayin'."

"Oh? What's that? What are _some_ saying?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear it. Just some people flapping their gums."

"I see." I could sort of imagine what was being said, given my run-in with Mrs. Clumb today.

"Some are stirring up all that stuff about Terry and your mum. I called them all tossers and kicked them out of the shop!"

"Well, thanks for that!" I bit my lip and my handbag twisted to and fro on the end of my arm. "Uhm, what _are_ they saying?"

"No, I'll not repeat it. Too nasty." He shook his head sadly. "Some folks can't let bygones be bygones, but you know that. My God, it was an awfully long time back!"

"Yes. Yes it was. So, Seamus, just tell me, what they're saying; so I'll be ready."

He shook his head sadly. "Well, the lifeboat thing, and the explosives thing last year with the Chough birds, your kidnapping by Bodmin Jonathon as well, and back when your mum starting taking up with various folks…" He slowed and stopped.

I put my free hand on my hip, the other clutching my shopping. "Yeah?"

"God, Louisa! I told them they were all daft!"

"Granted," I said through clenched teeth. "My dad and my mum were not Sterling citizens, alright! I'll give them that. But what in heaven's name has that to do with me and Martin and the wedding we didn't have?"

Seamus gulped. "Lord. They…"

"Go on. I want to hear it. What have they been saying?"

He licked his lips nervously. "This isn't what I think or been saying, so don't tar me with the same brush, but… well, some been sayin' that maybe you're not fit to be Head teacher of Portwenn School."

"Oh, they do, do they? And why in God's name are they saying that!" I shouted at the man.

He backed up quite startled at my volume. "They been wonderin' if they can _trust_ you with their kids. What if there was somethin' _wrong,_ sort of, with you?"

"Wrong?"

"Yeah. Like maybe Doc Martin found out somethin' that kept him from marrying you? The Doc can be snarly and all at times, but he's pretty smart the way he can figure out things. So they've been wonderin' if maybe you're a bit off maybe, like your mum and dad?"

I backed up until my hip hit the door frame and I froze. "But… that's not true…" came out quietly. My heart was pounding away and my throat had gone dry. Not again! This was awful!

Seamus McManus looked at me and smiled. "It's a terrible lie, that's what I told 'em. They're just makin' things up to be hurtful. I told 'em all they was Bodmin to say such things! I known you since you was born, Louisa. You're not like that at all! Bah! They're all totally mad if they believe any of that rubbish!"

"Right. Thanks for the bread."

"Sure. Anytime. And all that other rot, just ignore, it, that's my advice!"

"Yes, I'll do that. Bye." I left the bakery and slowly went towards home, as news of this nasty rumor buzzed away in my head. It tied in all too perfectly with Mrs. Clumb's nastiness today, too. I was shocked and hurt and scared. I'd tried very hard to be a perfect teacher and head for the school. But this rumor was damaging. They were saying I could not be _trusted_?

As I quickly walked home, I passed the girl-pack and they actually crossed the street, rather than walk near me. Mercifully they stayed silent and that alone spoke volumes, so I looked back after them in amazement. Just as I turned my head one of the girls turned and stuck out her tongue at me.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26 – Nightmare

Wednesday was more of the same. That is I kept hearing speculations about Martin and me and our non-wedding. I even got a call from Mr. Sands, the chief of the school's Board of Governors. I'd just gotten to the cottage after the school day and had dropped a pile on forms on the table when the mobile started buzzing.

"Louisa? Sands here. Say I wanted you to know that I and the other governors have every confidence in you."

"That's very nice of you to say, Mr. Sands."

"Well it's true. I didn't talk to Doc Ellingham, but I'm certain he feels just the same," he stopped and cleared his throat, "at least as far as the _school_ goes. He _is_ one of the governors, you know."

"Oh, right." I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure that Martin wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't what?"

"Well, he's a fair man."

"Yes. He is, isn't he? Truthful as well; too truthful at times!" He cleared his throat again. "Just wanted to call and tell you that we're pleased with you as Head Teacher."

"Thanks, but why has this come up? It's not every day my 'bosses' give me a pat on the back."

"Perceptive as always, Louisa. I just thought it best… I had heard…well, _rumors_ flying about. Didn't want you to worry."

In spite of his words I had been holding my breath. "Thanks for that. I've heard some of those too. Nasty things."

"Isn't village life wonderful?" he laughed sarcastically. "All piled up like kittens in a basket we are. When one coughs or sneezes, all the others do too! Never you mind Miss Glasson. You're doing fine! Bye now!"

"Goodbye Mr. Sands and thank you for calling."

"Of course. Bye." The call ended.

So what Seamus told me was true! Rumors were brewing about me as to my fitness. If they weren't, why would Sands have called? This was all too much. Not sure how much of this I'd be able to take! Of course mum taking off as she did, and that was over 25 years ago, still made chins wag. So how long will this juicy bit of gossip go on for? Thirty years? Thirty five?

Maybe Holly was right. Maybe I needed to get away for a while. But with the term in session, it would be quite hard to take time off. It was possible to get to London and back in one weekend, if you took the train at just the right time on a Friday, you could get back to the village late on a Sunday. But spending almost a day and a half round trip on trains and buses did not appeal to me.

I ate a simple meal, did the washing up and started on the pile of papers. All administrative stuff about budgets and so forth – a total pain to get through, but oh so necessary.

I took a break and had some tea, then went upstairs to the loo. I walked into my bedroom after for a jumper as the evening had gone cool. The day was sunny and calm but had turned towards nightfall into a breezy evening. I could hear the occasional gust rattling the windows on the seaward side.

Martin's ring, the one from his grandmother, sat bold as brass in a carved wooden box made by a great-uncle on my dad's side. I never met him, he passed away long before I was born, but apparently he was a wood carver of some skill. The box, a few inches square, was made from driftwood, and held a fine carving of three dolphins on the inside face of the lid. When I took the ring off on Saturday night, I carefully put in back in the velvet box it came in and then propped it up in this wooden box of mine.

I looked at the ring intently, turning my head this way and that as the light reflected from the three diamonds in the silver ring. I picked it up and looked deeper into the light reflected from the diamonds. They were superb stones to my untrained eye, and the thing ring had fit my finger perfectly.

Poor Martin. He'd sat across from me at the kitchen table over a very nice meal of salmon, potatoes, peas, and green beans then started fiddling about patting his coat and digging into pockets. At last he pulled out a small box which he opened and there was a diamond ring.

"I got this for you. My grandmother's engagement ring," he said.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw it. "Oh, it's lovely!"

Martin pulled it free and nervously tried to hand it to me, but it fell onto my plate. Not exactly the most romantic sort of ceremony. I fished it from its bath of vegetables and cleaned it.

"Probably won't fit," went on Martin.

I waited a few seconds for him to offer to put it on my hand, but to no avail. Finally I slipped it on by myself and it fit perfectly. I showed him how it fit just fine. "Perfect!"

Martin smiled faintly. "Good," he muttered.

I stayed that night at his cottage and kept waking up, with his naked body spooned against me. I turned the ring to and fro in the moonlight that came in the room. It was no _dream_; it was _real_.

Now I held the ring ruefully. It was pretty; it was mine; and I was going to give it back. I slowly returned the lovely thing to its velvet snap-lid box and held it tightly to my chest.

'No dream, Louisa. Not a dream now,' said my internal voice.

I sniffled and wiped my face. "No, it's a bloody nightmare!"

That made me decide I had to do something! The evening shadows were growing longer and I knew that now was the time. I slipped into my fuchsia fleece wrap jumper, took up my handbag and then slowly set the ring box into my bag. A quick glance across the way showed a light on at the surgery. Good, Martin was home.

I went quickly down to the harbor, snuck up the road past the Large Restaurant, went round to the back of the cottage and knocked at his kitchen door. No answer. I knocked again and again. The Lexus was parked here so he must be out.

"Damn it!" I wasn't really mad, just frustrated. I felt if I delayed, I'd not get _this_ errand done. In disgust I marched back home. I was rounding the corner of the Crab and Lobster and almost ran Martin over. He was sitting on a bench staring at the sea. "Martin?"

"Louisa." He jumped up. "Getting some take-away."

"Right. Ah…" I chewed on my lip. I'd planned for this errand to be as quick as possible and in _private_. Now here we stood in public like fools. I least I felt that way. "How have you been?"

He grimaced. "Terrible," came out of his mouth.

"Me too." Terrible was one way to describe it. There were about a million other words that would have fit, as long as they all meant _appalling_ and _depressing_.

"I didn't think…"

"It would feel like this?" I nodded. "Me neither." He and I stood there looking at each other for a little bit; don't know for how long; not knowing what to say.

"Been, uhm… getting on?" he blurted out.

I sighed. "Yes, yes I have. Been trying to fend off the gossips, you know." Fend off was the polite phrase, but I could think of others - like boil in oil.

"Yes. They're… appalling, aren't they?"

"Yup." I rubbed my arms in the breeze. "Cold tonight."

He nodded yes. "Winter's around the corner."

I looked at the ground as I didn't want to discuss the weather. "Listen, Martin… I was…"

"Yes?" He looked at me with longing and concern, a rare sight to see Martin Ellingham this way.

"I've just come back from your cottage," I said with false courage. What I really wanted to do was to fall through a hole into the depths of the earth.

"Oh?" he replied.

I looked away then straight into his blue eyes. "Actually, I wanted to give this... back." I opened my handbag, pulled out the ring box and snapped it open so he could see it. "You should have this."

Martin held up his large hands. "No! You should keep it. I gave it to you."

Damn! "But, Martin, you should take it back! I can't imagine keeping it!"

"No, no. I gave it to you," he protested. "You keep it. It was a gift… for the engagement."

I felt my eyes grow moist as I shook my head. Why do things have to be _so_ hard? What a bloody nightmare!

"Martin… I really… can't conceive any reason why I should keep it," I told him with finality. I jammed the ring into his hand, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

"Sorry, Martin," I told him sadly then fled the scene of the nightmare.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27 – Blowup

On Saturday unwelcome advice came my way from Roger Fenn, of all people. He was sitting on my sofa, drinking my coffee, and telling me what to do!

"I should do what?" I shouted at him; amazed at what I was hearing.

"You should go away for a while, Louisa." He sat there twisting the soft hat he'd worn to protect himself from the morning drizzle.

"Thank you for that! Leave my home, when I've done nothing wrong?" I stood and pointed to the door. "Roger! I want you to go!"

"No! Louisa damn it, quit twisting my words."

"Well then you'd better try me one more time or by God I _will_ throw you out!"

Roger sighed. "Look, I know it's been hard on you and Martin too. Very hard. So sit down and listen for a minute, ok?"

He had no idea what I'd been going through. Friday, and Thursday as well, I was caught out by several sets of school parents and two shop keepers, who all told me that I looked tired and needed a rest, preferably far away.

"Yeah. Hard. Very." I said through gritted teeth. "But…"

"Louisa, when I had the kids for after-school music yesterday they were all sad. Very sad. I finally managed to pry out of some of the girls that they knew what you've been going through. Granted they're only ten to eleven, but they hear things and they chatter too! They were abuzz that you'd been found by Sally Chadwick asleep at your desk Friday and that Trudy had seen you all weepy after lunch on Thursday. They know – they know."

"So a bunch of ten-year-olds delegated you to come and talk to me about my insomnia?"

"No, they didn't." butted in Bert Large who just waltzed in from the terrace. "I was just passing by and thought I'd come in. Your front door was locked so I came around the back."

I looked from Bert to Roger and back. "BERT! My front door was locked for a reason! Can't I have a _private_ talk with just _one_ person?"

"Listen," said Bert, "it's not just about you or the Doc, Louisa. It's about…" he stopped and rolled his eyes at Roger. "A little help over here Roger?"

"Go on!" I shouted and looked daggers at both of them. "You're all so bloody smart! _You_ tell _me_ what I should do! Hmm? Tell me what I should do about horrible rumors and the way some of my _so-called_ friends in this village suddenly won't talk to me in the market or the shops! Or that everywhere I go I'm either greeted by wild rumors about me and Martin or truly nasty stuff about my dad, mum, and worse - me!"

I'd not had a decent sleep since Wednesday when I gave Martin his ring back. All I really wanted today was to rest and hibernate, but when Roger practically forced his way inside, I felt I had to let him blurt out whatever it was. Huge mistake!

Roger held out his hands. "Whoa, Louisa. Stop. Bert and I were talking…"

"Oh? Now _you_ lot have turned against me too?" I shook my finger at them. "Shame on you! It's not even been a bloody week and I feel like I'm in a pressure cooker. Like the whole village has turned into a giant pot filled with hot water and steam with me dunked in the middle!"

Roger and Bert answered together. "No!" They turned and looked at one another.

Bert spoke alone then. "Calm down, girl. Please. We're just worried about you. The whole village cares for you, like you was one of our own kids, isn't that so Roger? We just think that you look rundown and upset. Lack of sleep will do that. When I can't sleep, I get up and drink a tot of rum with some hot milk. Puts me right down."

"I don't like rum." I told him. "Don't have any."

He pursed his lips and thought. "Hm, well, I'm not sure if mulled wine would have the same effect, but if you don't have the recipe you take some white wine, add nutmeg, cinnamon, maybe some allspice…"

"Bert! I don't fancy any mulled wine!" In fact the thought of wine turned my stomach. I had a cabinet full of the stuff and couldn't get any past my nose this week.

"Or, maybe just a good strong cup of tea?" Bert added hopefully.

I raised my hands to my head as Bert babbled on about various hot drinks with or without alcohol. "Stop!"

Bert braked to a halt. "Is it something I said?" he asked innocently. "Maybe tea wouldn't be a good idea. There is caffeine in tea or so I was told once. And if you really can't sleep, maybe the Doc has just what you, uhm… need…" he stammered. "I mean, erh… he could _prescribe_ something for you."

Roger stood and pulled Bert by the arm. "Come, Bert. I think Louisa has heard quite enough from us for one day," his voice fell, "if not longer."

"But, if you can't sleep, do you want me to have the Doc come by?" asked Bert in a vain attempt to remedy my situation.

Roger rolled his eyes and tugged on him again as they went towards the terrace door. "Sorry, Louisa," added Roger as they walked out.

"Just go you two," was all I could say weakly. My cottage grew blessedly silent so I staggered to the door and double bolted it. God! Those two tore it – right down the middle. I couldn't get to my mobile fast enough.

It buzzed once and it was answered.

"Holly?" I asked my friend in London.

"Louisa, hi! I was just watching the telly, totally bored out my head. I'm watching that series about the undertaker and the mid-wife! I have to say I wouldn't fancy that man at all, but the story is interesting, which should tell you something about my state of mind." She laughed. "Why'd you call?"

"Whatever. Listen, Holly, about that job you told me about?"

"Yes?" her voice filled with interest.

I swallowed hard. "I think I'm cracking up here. What would it take to have an interview for it? Could you set it up?"

"Of course! I'll give the head a ring straight away! When do you want to do it?"

I was astonished as I heard myself say, "As soon as possible."


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28 – Punches

They say that we spend one-seventh of our lives on Mondays and _this_ one started off calmly, as I wished it to. But it didn't stay calm at all.

We tallied the students at the school, got the attendance sheets filled in, and everything seemed to be going great. Not a student was ill or excused, all my teachers were here, and I'd gotten a huge chunk done of the school budget on Sunday. Since I was quite cross with Bert and Roger, and the rest of the village, the least I could do was work; it kept my mind occupied.

Mrs. Clumb had even stopped by late Sunday afternoon and apologized for her rude words, which I appreciated. She sat and we had a chat while she demolished a bag of my jelly babies, which was a shame. At least once gone they wouldn't tempt me at every turn. So with a hopeful spirit I went to work Monday wishing for a quiet day.

I'd gotten a call from Holly before I walked to work and that helped to settle my mind, sort of. I made another call, but he didn't answer.

I tucked into my tea, having had a bit of an upset stomach when I got up. It was probably just a nervous belly from all the anxiety. The white tea was hot, mostly milk and sugar, but it tasted nice on top of the dry toast I managed to get down at the cottage. Things seemed to be settling down, especially after I talked to Holly. Just then I heard a shout from down the hall.

A girl was yelling at the top of her lungs. "Timmy! If you do that ONE MORE TIME!"

A boy's voice answered, "I'm not doing… OW!"

I went running down the hall and at the corner by the staff room found Timmy Davies slumped on the floor holding a bloody mouth as Charlotte Humphreys stood over him like an Amazon, her left fist cocked to strike again. Several boys stood by the wall; most appeared to be in shock.

"She hit me!" Timmy blubbered with blood and spit dribbling from his bashed-in mouth.

"Charlotte! Stop!" I yelled as Janice, our new Math teacher, came out in the hall.

"Alright!" shouted Janice. "Stop, both of you!"

"I didn't do anything!" Timmy yelled. "She just punched me! Twice!"

"Yes, you did!" replied Charlotte. ""I told you to quit trying to kiss me!"

The other kids giggled. "You lot! Get back into class! Now! You two, though, enough!" I yelled back. "Janice, get me a damp cloth, please." I knelt by Timmy. "Let me see." He moved his hand and I saw lots of blood and maybe a broken tooth. "Dear. Did she punch you anywhere else?"

"I didn't punch him!" shouted Charlotte. "He sort of… fell into…" she held up a scuffed looking fist, "my hand!"

"That's not true! You punched me in the eye and the mouth!" wailed Timmy.

I sighed. "How many times have we told you to keep hands to yourselves? Fighting and arguing is NOT a good idea at all! If we could all just _talk_ we'd settle these things. Right?" His eye did look more punched than hit in a collision. "We'll get this sorted out. Charlotte, quit standing there like a gladiator, would you? Sit down over there. And what's wrong with your hand?"

She shook it and flexed the fingers. "Feels sprained maybe and _something__'__s_ sticking out!"

"Ok, we'll see to it. Calm down. We'll sort it."

Janice came back and gave me a wet towel. "Think we'd better have Doctor Ellingham look at them?" she asked as both kids whinged and cried more.

I looked up to see Sally Chadwick peering out of the school office. "Sally? Call the surgery will you? Two kids, looks like a fight…" I gave Charlotte a disgusted look, "or something." I put the towel to Timmy's mouth to stanch most of the blood.

In a few minutes, Martin rushed in, carrying his medical case. "Martin!" I said. "Glad you came so quickly! Bit of a dustup."

He peered at the boy first. "What's happened?"

"Timmy here thought he should get a little _close_ to Charlotte."

"Close?" he asked and took the towel away from Timmy's face. Martin started to gag and shake his head as he saw the blood. "Let me see…" he quickly turned and vomited into a bin.

Janice spoke up. "Sorry about calling you, Doc. You can see it is a bit of a mess."

He wiped his mouth, but carried on. "Yes. No problem. Here." He gave me some gauze pads. "Hold these to his lips. Where's the tooth? The dentist might be able to…"

Janice took Charlotte's hand and held it in front of Martin. "There it is, doc."

"What?"

Janice pointed. "That's it. His tooth. It's stuck in her hand!"

Martin gave me an apologetic look and heaved into the bin once again.

Poor man; I did feel sorry for him. How awful for him – a doctor afraid of blood. "Martin, _can_ you help? I know it's difficult…"

He held up a hand and to shut me up and I could tell he was struggling to regain control. He gulped a little but carried on. "I'm fine. How did this happen?" Martin pulled on gloves and then pulled the tooth out of the back of Charlotte's hand as she screamed and wiggled.

I rolled my eyes. "Timmy here has had a bit of a _crush_ on Charlotte."

"Nu, uh!" shouted the boy. "I didn't say that!"

Janice and I gave each other a look that said we'd both noticed his pre-adolescent crush.

Martin disinfected and dressed the girl's hand. "Superficial. Looks like she punched him."

"Twice!" yelled Timmy. "All I wanted…"

"You hugged me AND tried to KISS me!" yelled Charlotte who lashed out with a foot trying to kick Timmy. "I told you to stop it!"

I grabbed Charlotte's leg to stop any more injuries. "Yes, he knows that he should keep his hands to himself, right Timmy?"

"I didn't do it!" cried the boy. "I was pushed by my mates into her in line, and then she just starting punching me!" He wailed for a few seconds. "She broke my tooth!"

Martin started probing inside Timmy's mouth. "The dentist will be able to fix this, I think. More of a chip, than a broken tooth. This upper lip needs to be sutured. A plastic surgeon should see to that. Hospital." The kid wailed as he dug around. "Plus X-rays to rule out any facial fractures." He peered into his eyes, but said nothing else.

The girl held her hand out oddly. "What about my wrist? Timmy pushed me down after… well… after I hit him! Is it broken?"

Martin wiggled her hand around. "No. Sprained. Fighting is _not_ a good idea."

I looked sharply at Martin. "That's what we were telling them, Martin. People _have_ to get along." I tried not to catch Martin's eye, but his face was inches from mine as we crouched on the floor. His blue eyes bored into mine and I thought I might cry myself along with the kids.

Martin swallowed hard and said, "Yeah. I want two bags of ice. One for each. And call their parents and tell them what I told you. The boy should go to hospital. Parents can take him. The girl," he glared at her. "Home, ice, rest, Paracetamols." He got an elastic wrap from the case and bound her wrist.

Janice went to make the calls. The girl sat on the floor flexing her wrist. "It still hurts!" she whimpered.

"Yes, Charlotte. That's what happens…" I told her as I faced Martin, "when we don't get along."

Martin stared blankly at me and then ducked his head in a half-nod. There wasn't anything else to say.

In a few minutes Timmy's dad showed up and Charlotte's mum. I filled them in on the situation and what Martin had said. The parents left with their injured children. "Sorry, Martin. Totally unexpected," I told him.

He stood there watching as the custodian cleaned the floor of blood, spit and tears. "Children. Hard to fathom at times. _Nasty_ creatures."

We stood in the open door and watched as Timmy was bundled away. It was cool and I hugged myself as the breeze made me cold as I wasn't wearing a jumper. "They're _just__people_ Martin. Hard to _teach_ them to see the other side. Apologize and so forth. Understand other people…" my words sounded mealy-mouthed after our wedding troubles.

Martin looked like he was offended by my words. He stepped down into the playground, but turned back to face me. "Yeah. To get_along_," he said flatly. He stood there staring at me and I didn't know why.

"Right. Martin, I was wondering," I started to say, "if we could talk for a minute?"

"About what?" he asked.

I licked my lips. There probably wasn't a better time to say this. With the call from Holly, I was going to tell him that I was going to London for a couple days but I didn't want to tell him _why_. That idea hit me like a punch in the gut. "I want to tell you…"

Sally came running up just then and interrupted. "Miss Glasson. I've got Mr. Sands on the phone. He wants to speak to you. Says _he__'__s_ returning _your_ call."

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry, Martin. I _have_ to go."

He gave me a nod and a half-hearted wave; letting me leave.

I trotted down the hall and answered the call from Mr. Sands. "Mr. Sands, hello. I wanted to tell you that I'll be away this Wednesday through Friday. I have to tend to some personal business."

"Ok. If you must."

"Yes," I replied slowly. I have to. Can't delay."

"Well, you're fairly full of personal days. Thanks for calling me to let me know."

"Thanks. Something I need to see to. I will be back by the weekend."

"Right. Goodbye then, Louisa."

"Bye."

Sally Chadwick came in and turned a curious eye at me. "Going away for a bit?"

I sighed. "Yes, personal business. Wednesday through Friday," I said and tried not to let my voice tremble.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29 – Words

Tuesday after lunch I was surprised by Mr. Sands poking his head into my office. "Mr. Sands?"

"Hello, Louisa. I was down this way at the market and thought I'd pop in."

"What about? I mean you are welcome any time, but what's going on?" I looked over his shoulder and saw Sally craning her neck as she tried to see what was going on. "Come in, please and shut the door." If she spent as much time on her work as eavesdropping… I let that thought drop.

He tugged at the door, closing it on my too inquisitive secretary, and he took a chair. "Suppose I startled you with my call last week?"

"Yeah, a bit. But you can call, anytime…"

"I'll come to the point. I heard all kinds of things floating about, and thought I'd nip it in the bud. Did my call help?"

"What sorts of things?"

He laughed. "All a bunch of blather. Too many people have a brain and a mouth, and mostly choose to exercise both, usually to no advantage. When I worked up at the north quarry, there were all sorts of things flying about – they'd make your head spin. Why one time I was on my way home after shift, had to stay late to repair a digger, and come across a girl with a puncture on her scooter. It was raining cats and dogs right then, so I stopped to see if I could help. Her mobile wasn't working and she was about to hoof it a mile for help. I gave her a lift and took her to Frankie's Service. There she called her dad so he'd come over from St. Endellion with his truck to pick up her bike." He slapped his knee. "The whole thing took an extra fifteen minutes out of my usual schedule, past the overtime of course."

"Ok." Why was he telling me this? "Go on."

"Well, what with staying late and going out of my way to help her, I hung around until her dad drove up, my missus was very nervous with me all evening. First she asked if I'd been drinking with the boys, then asked if I'd stopped to fill up the caravan with fuel, and so on. I'd told her about the late work and stopping to help the girl."

"She didn't believe you."

"No," he grimaced. "By the time I clocked in the next morning, there was rumors flying about like you couldn't believe. You see at the same time I was thinking about standing for council and people was wondering where I'd gone off to the previous evening. It didn't matter what I did or said! No one listened to me! It was about a couple weeks later when that girl and her dad come up to the quarry to see me to bring me a box of chocolates for my missus – all in thanks for helping. She'd remembered that I said I worked there and was already late for tea from the overtime."

"Really?"

"I was so fed up with the whole thing I was ready to chuck 'em, but I made the pair of them stand right there, while I called the wife and made HER come by the quarry office and personally meet them and get that box of candy!"

"Oh? All because you stopped to help a motorist."

Sands slapped my desk. "It was nothing, but it took my chances of winning any sort of election and chucked 'em right down the toilet! There's still some that think I was running around." He looked long and hard at me. "In a big town… I guess this stuff still goes on, but here…" he spread his arms. "In this little tin-box village, we _all_ know too much, for our own sakes!"

"Yes, there is that." I nodded in agreement. "I'm not even going to ask what you've heard about me."

He shook his head sadly. "All because of words; just words. Now! That's settled then. While I'm here, you want to take a few minutes and go over that proposal for two computers you sent the Board? I can see one, maybe, but two? Lot of cash."

I smiled. "I've got that figured out. There's a grant body for math and science using computers that we could apply for. That would help wouldn't it?"

Sands smiled. "That's what I like about you Louisa, always thinking about ways to get things done!"

Our meeting went quite long as the grant led to other items, and before I knew it, school was out and we were still talking about money and the budget. Somehow it always came down to money.

Mr. Sands finally looked at his watch. "Look at the time. I took up your whole afternoon! But I can see you've got lots of ideas to keep Portwenn School running and running well!" He stuck out his hand and I shook it as he stood.

"Thanks. Yes it is late. I'd best be going too." I was glad to see him, but I had to get ready for tomorrow.

"You take care, Louisa Glasson. I'd hate for Portwenn School to lose you."

That comment made me look away. "Right. So, is there anything else?"

"No. I'm off." He walked out the door and Sally walked in.

"Anything wrong?" she asked.

"No, budget and money stuff, you know. The usual."

"You're certain? Everything's alright?"

"Oh, Sally, don't be so concerned!"

"If you say so. So you'll be off Wednesday?"

I nodded _yes_. "Through Friday."

"Personal business?"

"Yes, that's what I told you yesterday."

"Right. So I'll see you next week."

"Of course. If anything comes up, you can phone me. Leave me a message, if you can't get through."

"Ok. You'll be?"

"In some meetings," was all I could say. "Bye, then."

"Goodbye Louisa." She left my office with an anxious look.

I was very certain that if Sally had a tiny hint of where I was going and what I'd be doing, the whole village would know inside five minutes flat, hence my sneaky moves.

Wednesday morning I left the cottage with a small case. I'd put my hair up, as I wouldn't have a chance to get ready, having a dinner meeting straight away from Paddington Station in London. I'd not even have a chance to see Holly before I went to the restaurant, since my time was limited.

The taxi driver, one I'd not seen before, hefted my case into the boot easily. "Travelling light, are we?" He was short and rotund, with thinning hair, and dark gray eyes in a lined face.

"Yeah, just a couple nights."

"Well, don't you look, nice!" he said raking his eyes over me.

I had dressed smartly, heels and everything and I had a feeling my feet would be killing me by the end of the day. "Thanks, but can we get going? There's a twelve oh two train at Bodmin Parkway and I can't miss it!" I put my briefcase and handbag next to me on the seat cushion.

"Ok. Hop in and we'll be off," the man said. "We've plenty of time, miss."

We sped away up the hill from the harbor and I felt a pang of doubt as I saw the white-washed cottage walls fly past. Was this the beginning of an adventure I'd not really planned on? I opened the window a crack and the air felt good on my face.

The driver peered back at me. "You want me to crank up the ventilator?"

"No, this is fine. I'm enjoying the cool air."

I saw his eyes in the mirror. "You do look a might pale."

"Oh? I do?"

"Yeah. There's a bit of flu going about. You don't have that do you?"

"No, don't think so." I had felt a little off that morning. I had managed to get some oatmeal in me and a little milk. But the thought of tea turned my stomach today. "Definitely not the flu."

"Fine." We drove in blessed silence for a few minutes and then he started chatting me up again. "How long have you lived in Portwenn?"

"Almost forever! Where do you live?"

"Way up past Delebole. Used to work in Bude then got shifted down here. Not many tourists in Bude this time of year."

"I wouldn't think so. Portwenn either."

"The weather is turning, isn't it?" He waved at the misty clouds and sprinkles in the distance. "So a _Portwennian_ born and bred?"

"Yes. I was away a few years for school then moved back."

"So then you heard about that teacher?" he asked.

"Oh? What teacher?"

"I heard there's this teacher in your village; was to be married. But she got right to within an hour of meeting her man at church and called it off! Imagine that."

I gulped. "I did hear something about that." I looked out the window to avoid his eyes as we sped along.

He shook his thin-haired head. "All that preparation; plus dating, romance, then poof! Gone! Shame."

"Yeah," I answered. "A real shame."

"So you know her?"

"Oh, not that well."

"Poor girl," he added. "I feel for her."

His gray eyes in the mirror held me fixed. "I do too," I answered.

"I wonder what she'll do?" he wondered aloud. "What will she do?"

The taxi dropped me off with plenty of time at Parkway Station and I was off on my trek. From there it was a forty-five minute local to Plymouth, where I had to make a quick connection to the London train. Three and half hours after that, plus a twenty minute delay, I got into Paddington Station, hopped into a taxi and rushed to the restaurant where I'd meet the Head Master of the target school.

All in all an easy trip, but the entire way the taxi driver's words stuck with me. "What will she do?"


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30 – Pride

By the time I got back to Portwenn Friday evening I was exhausted. I'd met with the school head teacher Wednesday, then slept on Holly's sofa, all in the sense of friendship, then had to rush to the school for the interview proper. When I returned to Holly's flat that afternoon my tail was dragging from exhaustion, my feet felt like raw meat from high heels, and my voice was hoarse.

Holly managed to pry herself out of bed long enough so we could have a proper meal and she gave me a knowing look across the bistro table. "Well, how did it go?"

"Fine, it went fine." I yawned. "But I'm knackered. You can't imagine the questions they asked; over and over. A lot of psycho-babble in some of those. 'If you have a choice would you rather be a ditch-digger or an orchestra conductor?'" I mimicked the head.

Holly laughed nervously. "Yes, the man is an odd duck."

"Yes, that's the same thought I had about him. Something you want to tell me?"

"No. I don't know anything," she replied. "Just that… well, you can't expect London schools to be run like your _little_ school in Portwenn."

Fire flashed. "It's not that little! Bloody hell, Holly, you know…"

She held up both hands and I stopped. "Just saying, this is a _much_ bigger school and they would be taking a chance on you, mid-term and all."

"Yes… wanted to ask what you knew about the teacher I'm replacing. Know anything? Was it him or the school?"

"Oh, definitely _him_, I think. I don't really know, though."

"Hmm." I sighed. "Still the extra pay would be nice. From what they told me it's quite a bump-up from what I get in Cornwall."

"My dear, do not forget for one minute how much expensive it is to live _here_. And car park fees are just huge! What you going to do with your car?"

I sat there a moment chewing on my lip. "Suppose I'll sell it."

"Really?"

I sighed. "I love that little Ford, but…" I shrugged. "They haven't offered me the job yet."

"Oh, they will! I know they will!"

The waiter came over just then and stood over us. "Tonight's specials are…"

It was later after dinner and wine and we talked some more. That is I had ordered wine, but one sip and it tasted strange. Holly laughed and finished it for me.

"I'll just stay off my pain meds tonight!" She swirled the glass and downed it. "No driving for me!"

"Yeah, but you don't have a car. Besides we took a taxi."

She patted my hand. "Neither will you, soon. Don't need one here!"

Much later after our long chat we got back to her flat. I practically had to pour her into bed. "Holly, I think you've had too much to drink."

"Really!" She squinted up at me blearily. "You are so brave!"

"What?"

"Lou… Lou... Louisa," she managed to get out at last. "You broke up with what's-his-name…"

"Martin."

"Yeah, him. Have now run off to the big city…" she hiccupped. "And are planning to leave all that behind you." She blinked rapidly. "Is this what you're doing? You ready for it?"

"Suppose so. I've been thinking though, that even if they offer me the job I should turn it down. I mean, Portwenn is my _home_ and…"

Holly waved her hand. "Home, schmome, Louisa! You've lived in London and loved it!" She took my hands. "Oh, we'll have such fun!"

I laughed at her. "We're not as young as we used to be Holly!" I bit at my lip as I said it. Thirty-seven and alone, once again, I thought. Not quite what I had in mind two weeks ago.

"Yeah," she yawned, "but we can… try…" her eyes fluttered, "too... beeee…"

"Holly? Holly?" I poked her as her hands slid from mine.

"Just need… some sleep…" she faded away.

I covered her with a blanket, turned off the light and kissed her forehead. "Thanks, Holly."

"Yeah… ok." She began to snore.

Her sofa was lumpy and if there was a comfy way to lie on it, I could not find it. My mind was buzzing with all that I'd done, seen, heard, and spoken this week and last. It all kept whirling about inside me; a maelstrom, and it made me sick.

Sometime around two or so I drifted off into a troubled sleep. I dreamed, I guess, and kept seeing Martin's face looming over me. The image didn't speak, just hung there in front of my face, half smiling – half frowning.

By noon Friday I was back at Paddington, got the Great Western Rail to Plymouth, changed onto the local up to Parkway and before six o'clock I was standing by my front door. I dropped the rolling case inside and slumped onto the sofa. My head fell back on the cushion and stared at the ceiling for a bit.

Then I got up and put my mobile on the charger; the battery was almost flat, and had to step over the stained slate where Holly had bled all over the floor. The tiles and the grout had a dark look compared to the others. I sighed. If I was going to rent this place out, I'd better do something about it. My cleaning supplies were a bit low, so off to the market I went, before they closed.

I hobbled down the street, having popped my ankle on the wet Plymouth platform and gratefully sat down once I got to the store. Margie keeps a chair by the counter for older folks and my ankle was now throbbing and puffy. I should have changed shoes from these damned high heels.

Margie bent over me making supportive noises. "Poor dear. Sprained an ankle?"

Someone emerged from the gloom in the back where the lights were out. God, not him! "Hello, Martin," I said and rubbed my ankle.

"Well, sweetie," went on Margie, "the Doc's here, so let him take a look. It's not like he's never seen an ankle before. Especially yours!" she sniggered.

Martin bent down. "Let me look. Let me see it."

"Twisted it a bit getting off the train. I needed some things here and it really didn't bother me until I came down the hill. Hurts now though. Oww…"

"Let me see it," he insisted.

Margie backed away. "I'll let you two have at it then." She smiled and disappeared.

"Twisted it you said?" He held my ankle, his large hands warm and gentle, and gently pressed on it. "You don't usually wear heels."

"No. I don't."

He looked at my shoes with disdain. "Not practical, especially with the hills here."

"I suppose not. What do you think?"

He cleared his throat. "It's an ankle… uhm, your ankle… and you have a slight sprain."

"Yeah. That's what it felt like." I looked at his eyes, so concerned, so well, doctor-like, but something more.

He ran his hand along my calf. "You didn't fall?"

"No. There was slick spot on the platform and it sort of folded under." I squirmed under his touch, as I wanted more. He squeezed my ankle then and it felt like fire. "Jesus, Martin! Not so hard!" It hurt so much it took my breath away.

"Sorry! Ice and a wrap. It is sprained, slightly. No other injuries?"

I shook my head _no_. "So much for shopping."

"What do you need? I could… get it for you?" he asked.

I really didn't want help, especially from Martin. It made me nervous to have him this close. "Don't bother, Martin. I'll be fine." But my nervousness wasn't from the injury. I was a proud woman and determined to make my own way. Now here I was getting help shopping from my ex-fiancé!

He bobbed his head. "No bother. Let me help you. Tell me what you want… I mean, need… I mean… groceries."

"Yeah. Ok," I said slowly after a few seconds to collect my wits. I took out the list I'd penned. "Here. If you don't mind." Paper towels, Windolene, air freshener, and bleach were all that was on it.

He read the scrap of paper. "Doing some cleaning?"

"Yeah, a bit. Been away; couple of days, you know."

"Yes. But you're back now." He almost smiled as he spoke.

"Yeah," I said then bit at my lip and looked at the wall. "I really have to get going. Things to do." I took out my purse and it was empty of cash. "Oh, God. I meant to go to the cash point."

"No matter. You can pay me back later," he said.

Margie gave us a huge smile as she poked her nose around a rack of cereal.

"What are you looking at?" Martin shouted.

"Nothing," Margie gulped. She added up the items and Martin gave her his card. She plunked the items into a bag and held it out.

I got up quickly. "Alright, Martin. I owe you." I loosened the belt of my coat. "Bit warm in here isn't it?" I said and picked up the grocery bag.

"I'll walk you home," Martin said softly, trying to take my elbow.

I twisted away from him. "No, Martin! No need. My cottage is just a hundred paces away. If I got here, I can get back."

Margie turned her smiling face from him to me. "Oh, what a pretty pin," she said.

I had dressed in an umber blouse with a light gray skirt. I'd found a little yellow flower brooch at a street vendor when Holly and I went to eat last night. I thought it was pretty. I blushed, looked quickly at Martin then towards the door. "Thanks. I bought it yesterday. Oh lord, I am expecting a phone call and I left my mobile in the kitchen! Better run." I looked at Martin, with remorse. I haven't exactly been trying to avoid him, yet here I was trying to slink off. "I mean, I'd better go. Bye Martin." I nodded to the shopkeeper. "Margie."

My expected phone call was from the head master of the school. He'd said they would likely have an answer for me today, as they were in some hurry to move on the teaching vacancy. He'd said they'd even offer a bonus if I could start two Mondays away. I'd told him I thought I could do that, if things worked out. I swung the bag on my arm. The bleach was to clean grout, and the rest was for the cottage, which needed a going over, if I was to lease it out.

That brought me up short and I stopped for a moment.

The narrow street, white cottages and shops, the sea beyond; seagulls overhead. Was I really ready to leave all this?

I limped away as fast as I could go. Luckily the evening had grown dark and cold and I saw no one about on the short walk to my cottage. I didn't want anyone to see me crying for I was still that proud.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31 – Kindness Recalled

"But you can do it, right?" I asked the estate agent. It was Monday night after a whirlwind weekend. I'd cleaned the cottage top to bottom, threw a number of old boxes and magazines away to straighten up, and generally worked like mad Saturday and Sunday.

Julia Bligh sniffed with irritation. "You say you need to rent it quickly. I'll do what I can." She acted stuffy and put out. She'd complained about having to come 'all the way' to the coast to see me. She also didn't like coming after dark, she'd said with a pained note to her voice. But here she was, in spite of that.

"You see, I will be moving, _soon_, and I'll need the rent."

"Ok. Well we'll just have to see what we can do."

"Thanks, awfully. So you'll let me know."

"You're sure you want to lease, not sell?" Mrs. Bligh looked about the lounge. "It is quite nice. A new cooker as well? Nice."

"Yes, got it this year." I looked at the floor and gulped. "Just a lease, please."

"Shame. I could get you a pretty penny, but not very quickly. It might be on the market for some time." She made a few notes in her mobile. "I'll be in touch."

I walked her to the door. "Just remember - don't call me at school? My mobile please? After four would be best."

The older woman sighed. "Alright."

"And as we agreed, you can't tell _anyone_."

"You _are_ willing to pay me something now?" She opened her handbag. "This is quite a long way from Truro."

I took a deep breath, and gave her a slim envelope with two hundred quid in it. "As we discussed."

She smiled like a shark as it slid into her hand and she shuffled through the bills. "Nice doing business with you, Miss Glasson."

After she left I got so shaky I had to hold the wall as the room spun. That hadn't happened in quite a while. If my blood pressure had gone up, I should let Martin know. But I couldn't _talk_ to him or _see_ him. Definitely _not_!

My nagging voice butted in. 'Couldn't Louisa? Or won't?'

I limped a little to the sofa and elevated my ankle. The wrap felt tight so I took it off so the pressure was off my swollen joint. I tried to stay off it but school today was a terror. No medical emergencies, just a teacher who had to take the day off to attend her niece who'd had a preemie baby last night over in St. Austell. So I was on my feet practically the whole day teaching her class. I felt like I could catch my breath at last when the mobile rang. "Hello?"

"Louisa! Hi! It's Joan!"

No rest for the wicked. "Hello, Joan. How are you?"

"I'm fine. I was calling… well, you likely are getting tired of all us gossips, but that's not why I called you."

Oh, goodie. "So why have you called? Sorry, Joan; didn't mean to be cross with you."

"Say no more. Well…" she cleared her throat, "I was thinking about when you were little."

"Really."

"Yes, it was about the time you were twelve. Your mum had been gone…"

"For a year, I remember. I was there."

"Yes," she said slowly. "It was when Muriel Steele, Helen Pratt and I took you shopping that first time."

I laughed. "Wow! That was a surprise. Totally blew me down." Muriel, Joan, and Helen had picked me after school one day, said they'd talked to my dad, and took me to this huge store in Truro. There they bought me three new dresses, a pair of shoes, trousers and blouses, a jumper, a coat, and best of all, _new_ underwear! I chuckled at the thought. "I've always wondered what made you do that. I was grateful then, still am, but what made you…"

"Take care of you? Were we to let you traipse around the village in the old clothes you had? It seemed to us that Terry wasn't exactly paying attention."

"Joan, that's not true! Dad did the best he could!"

She sniffed. "Which wasn't good enough for the three of us!"

"That was so kind of you; the three of you."

She chuckled and the image of her ruddy, smiling face popped into my head. "Louisa, Phillip and I had no children, nor Helen either. Mu only had Danny. We could see that you, well how to say it? Needed some female looking after. Not likely Terry would know quite what to do."

"Yes, I know." That was about the time I shot up in height a few inches and started to grow lady parts. "That was soooo kind of you Joan." My old clothes were too short, too old, and too _tight_ to be useful anymore. "It was great!"

"Louisa Glasson, you were and are the apple of so many people's eye in this village."

"Oh? Joan to tell the truth I have had just about enough of Portwenn! The nasty things…"

"Stop! Stop right there! What you have heard is no different from what many of us…" she faltered, "have had to deal with from time to time. My God, girl! Don't you know that those clothes that year, and the ones that came later were paid for by most in this town?"

"What?"

"Every pub and in town had a little extra tax added to each beer or whiskey, for about five years, to help you!" She laughed again. "Did you think that Mu, Helen, and I were made of money?" She giggled.

"Oh? So everybody… just helped out?"

"Righto. And when you got that spot at college in London, how was it that you just happened to 'win' a literary contest that netted you three hundred Pounds?"

I was shocked. "No, can't be."

"Yes, it was us, Louisa. All of us."

"But that contest was real! It just that… oh, I see."

"Yes, the head master set it up. His sister taught school in Exeter and the whole thing was run through her school address. All the grownups knew you see. Terry was gone at the time."

"I do remember that, of course." My dad had been accused of taking the lifeboat fund money. The old lifesaving boat was leaky and rotted so the village had been saving for years and years. Mysteriously the money disappeared from the jar at the Crab and Lobster and so did my dad. "So you're saying that the contest wasn't real?"

"Oh, it was real. But you did have the best paper. We read it."

"You lied to me! Oh my God, Joan, you all lied to me!"

"Yes, we did; just a little."

"I used that money for books! My God, I can't believe this!"

She chuckled again. "Believe it. It's true."

I fell back against the cushions. It all made sense, sort of. "Why are you telling me this _now_?"

"You needed to know," she said emphatically. "It was time. Time at last."

"My God, that was almost twenty years ago!"

"I know. I, well… I wanted to tell you."

I sat there silently for a few moments. "Joan… I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Well… most still hold you in quite high regard, even Martin."

I'd hoped that about Martin. "Joan, if there was any way that he and I could have married and made it work..."

She cut me off. "This isn't about Marty, Louisa. This is about you, girl." Joan sniffed. "Important that you know your history. And ignore all the gossip! It's just stupid people making things up! Let it go, girl!"

My hand flew to my head. "If I was with you at the farm I'd give you a big _hug_."

"Thanks, Louisa. I wish you could do that right now."

"Yeah." If I knew this earlier… "Joan I want to tell you…"

"Sorry, Louisa. Have to go water and feed the birds! Silly layers can't do that for themselves. Good night, Louisa."

"Good night Joan," I said softly.

Mrs. Bligh was only too glad to get her pieces of silver. Joan and the rest had helped because they wanted to; because I needed it. This news I wished I'd not heard it!

"Damn it, Joan! Why did you tell me this _now_?" I yelled at the dead phone. "Why didn't you tell me before last week? Or keep your mouth shut?" I shook my head in sadness. "It might have made _all_ the difference!"

My mind raced in horror, as I'd accepted the job offer from London less than forty-eight hours before. Profanity was too weak so I sat there staring out at the black sky beyond my terrace.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32 – Introspective

At some point in every story I have ever read, there comes a moment when the hero or heroine sits themselves down and has a good old talk, by themselves of course. That night was the moment for me – Louisa Eleanor Glasson – head teacher of Portwenn School. That is the soon-to-be former head teacher, having made so many plans, right or wrong, but was now acting on _one_ of those plans.

Here in the village I could blithely carry on, day after day, but each day I'd be thinking about the wedding Martin and I were _not_ brave _enough_ to carry off. Why not? A very good question.

I loved Martin for those moments that his armor was off and he was the most vulnerable – vulnerable enough to let me _enjoy_ being with the person he was deep inside. Not the gruff and judgmental doctor of course, but the sensitive soul that was buried from a life time of bullying, critical comments, and a lack of love.

I think the point when he and I were most in sync was about two weeks after our engagement. He would make apologies when taking a phone call when we were together, he kissed me freely, at least when we were in private, he didn't make snarky comments about me, my job, or my family. It was the eye of the storm for a few days and it felt wonderful. He was most like that during his first months in the village, but I think what got to him over time was the feeling he was just a GP, and not the high and mighty surgeon he had been.

Martin was SO oriented about his job and what social standing that would indicate. Since he had to leave surgery and start his exile in Cornwall, after a time it ate at his soul. The few courses I've had in Psychology and Childhood Development lead me also to think that Martin – well, Martin _needed_ love – the love he'd _never_ gotten at home. So for those few days, he was the man that I wanted to be in love with and to have love me. The sort of man that I had hoped I'd meet some day, marry, have a family, and grow old together.

However, and it was a very large point, Martin got grumpy, really grumpy. Did he feel trapped in our relationship? Was he regretting that we were engaged, a couple, who had coupled? I didn't notice any complaints on his part and I certainly had none (Wow!) about our love making. But after the kisses, hugs, and heavy sighs, the sun will come up the next morning. In the cold hard light of day, he and I had to deal with reality. A small West Country coastal village where our personal warts would be exposed to scrutiny, and scrutiny of a very small-town and pushy sort.

Martin was a private person and perfect strangers to him, although I knew them, who'd come up and slap him on the back and try to buy him a whiskey just did not work out at all. I'd be there with a sort of startled look, waiting to see what he would do, and if I put a hand on his and gave him an understanding look that would totally set him off. He would explode into a lecture about alcohol and its terrible affects long-term, how the lack of hand washing was the first path to viral infections and the spread of plague, and as he shouted I'd try to hide.

Difficult, very. I'd come to learn that over time, any public affection on my part would be brusquely rejected with a toss of the head, a hard stare, or a scraping of my hand off his arm like a trash man scraping something offensive off his shoe.

Then there was me. I am a public person; being a teacher I had to be. I could not yell and scream as Martin did at the people I saw each day. Students, parents, teachers, the shop keepers across the street, or even Bodmin Joe Penhale. I generally got along quite well with people, except for those who were pig-headed and obstinate – just like Martin was, sometimes.

And I was proud too, in my way, having an external confident nature, but I was a worrier. Was I doing my job properly, did this dress give the proper image to the Portwenn head teacher or was the neckline too low, and should I still be here in my home village after all this time? I'd gone to college in London and taught there for three years, but the sea called me back. Portwenn was tiny, no bank, one fuel depot, a couple of markets, too many pubs and B&Bs, but I knew it like the back of my hand. It was easy for me to live in the village. Too easy – too comfortable – no challenge.

In college I was the Country girl, the girl from pleasant, sleepy, provincial Cornwall. Some thought my accent cute and my ways old-fashioned, but I learned to get on. Just as Martin had learned about our village, I too dealt with London life - crowds, hustle and bustle, the Tube, the smells and the costs.

And after a time and our failed engagement, I was fed up with Portwenn; the people, the small school, the tiny cottages, narrow streets and smoked herrings. Along with gossip, narrow minded people, and the sense that no matter what, some folk would not let any errors ever be forgiven; not a single one. For in the big city, I could be one of the masses, faceless in the crowd, able to go about my business and not have my whole school and village abuzz with rumor and gossip about my hair, make-up, the shoes I wore, and had I really loved the Doc, or was it all a ploy to get his money?

Yes, I'd heard that rumor and a thousand others. I could bear no more. The exhaustion and nausea I was feeling must be all part of that too. I was run down, upset, and fearful, so something had to change.

But to be honest with Louisa Eleanor Glasson, I had to leave because _Martin_ was here. The Martin that was a sweet person, hidden inside a grumpy, obstinate, and harsh old man. The person that I loved, but I'd not be able change. Not one jot.

I had seen my mum and dad fight and fight and fight, until one day, Eleanor left. It was three years later that she wrote from Spain talking about the bar she was running in Andalusia with _Javier_. Even to a fourteen-year-old, it was obvious that she and Javier were more than business partners. Seeing my dad trying to scrape by on odd jobs, and the rare winning race horse and scheme, made me think about my mum. Off in Spain with a new guy, where she wrote to me "the skies are always sunny and love fills the air."

What if they'd not met? What if, instead of Eleanor taking a weekend trip to Cornwall with her hippy friends, and staying for twelve years, during which time she had a pregnancy, a quick marriage, and dealing with me for eleven years, she had never met dad?

When mum and dad would fight they'd yell insults at each other.

"If you were only like the _other_ men and get a _real_ job!" she'd shout.

Dad would return fire with, "I never should have married a Suffolk girl! Not like we grow 'em in Cornwall!"

"Oh?" she'd counter with. "Well, maybe if you'd used a rubber!"

"Oh? Then maybe you shouldn't have drunk all the wine?" he'd shout back.

I would retreat to my bedroom, or take a long walk by myself; almost always by myself.

Mum had run off and now I was following suit. Better to be alone again and in London then to marry Martin and see what might happen.

But I knew what would happen. Martin and I would hate each other after a while. Any children would be subjected to all the bickering of unhappy people. No hypothetical child of mine would be raised in a hurtful home! Better to leave then have that happen someday.

Martin would not make me happy, he figured that out. And if I married him, it would be under false pretenses. I couldn't love him all the time, not when he'd not let me hold his hand in a restaurant, wipe butter off his cheek, or straighten his tie.

I'd want to change him - make him softer, kinder, and gentler. I knew if I tried, he'd fight me every step of the way. At the end, we wouldn't be the people we used to be. Louisa and Martin would be different people; angry, upset people; people who hated their spouse.

I had enough of that growing up. Mum was still in Spain with Javier I supposed and dad was in up the way in Cardiff Prison. That way, they'd not fight, ever again.

So when I lived in London, I'd not have to have my heart skip a beat each time I saw Martin's tall frame come around a corner or walk into a room with that ground-eating stride of his long legs. I'd not have to see his large hands and want them and those long arms wrapped around me. I'd not get weepy wondering 'what if,' all my days. And to, not to have the feeling that I was making a huge mistake to be Louisa Glasson and not Louisa Ellingham.

And perhaps in time, after I'd left the village, I could start to feel normal again. Whatever that felt like.

I called CJ Spence, as she'd once said that if I ever wanted to sell my car, to let her know. My fingers shook as I pressed the buttons on the phone. "CJ? Hi! It's Louisa Glasson. So I was thinking…" I cleared my throat as it suddenly felt like dry as dust. "About my car? Still interested?"

Next I called Mr. Sands, and told him I was quitting Portwenn School.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33 – Bridges and Boats

Mr. Sands was not happy. "Quitting? Really."

I had to bit my lips as with one word I could take it all back. "Yes."

"And this is because?"

"I _need_ a change."

He sighed into my ear through the mobile. "I suppose you would." He cleared his throat. "But it's not even the middle of the term, Louisa! Damn it! Leaving us in the lurch like this isn't fair!"

"No." I answered forcefully. "You told me yourself the budget is in fine shape, things are going quite well and I'm certain you can find a replacement."

"Oh? Replace you? No, I think not. Not by a long stretch!"

"Look… I have to go, I mean move on."

Sands sighed again. "I suppose you would. Alright, if that's what you need to do." He stressed the last three words.

"Yes, I do." As soon as he'd answered on the second ring I started to get a brute of a headache which was now pounding away behind my left temple. "I'd like to end work this Friday and take the next week as vacation. I have the hours to do so."

"But Louisa… is this about you and the Doc?" He paused. "Of course it is you bloody fool!" he said to himself; not to me. "So where are you off to?"

"London. I have a job there in a fine school."

"Yes. I'm certain they are getting the better end of the deal than us, right?" He said sarcastically. "I suppose there's nothing I can say to have you stay? Nothing I can do to make you change you mind? Other than beating some sense into Doc Martin?"

"No! Not that." I chuckled in spite of myself. "But speaking of Doctor Ellingham – this isn't about him and me."

"Right," he answered and I heard not a bit of certainty in his voice. He didn't believe me at all.

"I guess I'm not being very convincing, am I?"

"Miss Glasson… erh, I'm very sorry things have ended this way. You are a fine teacher and head teacher; best we've ever _had_ or will _have_! We _will_ miss you. Is this want you really want?"

Not _this_ question! Holly asked me nearly the same thing and several times in the interview in London the new school staff asked as well. I wanted to tell it was not what I wanted, desired, coveted, or fancied. No, Mr. Sands, not at all.

"Yes," I answered him and confirmed once again the cast of the dies. They had rolled from my hand and rolled this number. The numbers that said I should leave – no, I HAD to leave Portwenn. "One more thing and I hope this isn't a problem. I know that Martin is still on the Board of Governors…"

"And you don't want me to tell _him_?" Sands laughed. "Like I can keep a secret like this one very long." He laughed scornfully. "Alright. We owe you that much. I'll tell the others under pain of death to keep it quiet."

"Ok. I plan on telling the school staff this Friday."

"Lord, girl, you're cutting it mighty fine aren't you?" He sighed once more. "I knew this job would be harder than it looked. Do as you will. Goodnight Louisa and for your sake, I hope and pray it's what you truly want."

"Yes. Goodnight Mr. Sands. Thanks." I rung off and slowly put the mobile onto the table.

"Well, Louisa, that's that!" I said into the silent room. "You've burned your bridges and your boats tonight, haven't you?"

I took a Paracetamol a moments later and only then did my headache start to wane. I looked out the bedroom window at the street below, then out the other across the harbor. Having committed myself to this plan of action I could only face forward with gusto for this adventure.

But gusto was not how I felt some time later when I went into the loo and threw up the Paracetamols and my dinner and my headache roared back with a vengeance. I wiped my mouth in disgust and flushed the mess away. "You'll be alright, Louisa. You're just upset."

My mental voice chimed in. 'Right. Whatever you say. You're just upset.'

"Ok. If you say so. That must be it."

I waited but she didn't say anything else.

Eventually I went to bed and read for a while – some silly romance of unrequited love – which I threw to the floor after ten pages of fluff - the heroine pining for her lost love. This wasn't me. Not me. I had love and it was NOT unrequited.

Martin did return my love and I returned his love for a time. But at the end, I gave it back and could not keep it.

I switched off the light and rolled over and sometime in the dark there came a very strange dream – or a nightmare.

I was sitting at a pub, outdoors, the sea to my back and I was drinking milk of all things. Pauline and Al were off to the side, next to Joe Penhale, and Bert was about, as well most of the people I knew well in the village. They were laughing and talking, joking and telling stories. Caroline was there, Isobel with her baby, and Holly laughing in her back brace describing how Martin had ripped her blouse open. Mrs. Cronk was there with Peter, Stuart and Anthony his friend the six-foot squirrel, Clive and Sally Tishell, even Mark Mylow and Julie. As I turned my head I could see Roger and Maureen and their twins, even the girl pack, numbering about six.

They all started to shuffle towards me, closer, and closer until I couldn't move, squirm, or push them away. They kept crowding in closer and closer until I couldn't even scream for them to stop. I was starting to panic, my eyes starting from their sockets, until a tall man, with greyish blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a dark suit pressed through the crowd, shoving and yelling.

"Make way! Make way there!" he yelled. "Let me through!"

And as the last bit of air was being pressed from lungs, his dark blue-clad arm reached for me and offered his large hand. "Louisa, do you need my help?"

I raised my hand to his and as our fingers met the crowd melted away magically and all I saw were his blue eyes staring into mine. I twitched and felt the pillow pressed into my face, my arms all knotted up under it.

"Martin?" I called but my bedroom was empty.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34 – Doors

At last Friday came after a busy and strange week. I'd been quite busy at school work, writing letters, completing the grant proposal for the computers, generally keeping my head down and working away. The strangeness came only every time I realized that this was the last few days I'd be working here in the school where I went as I girl, taught, and also was head teacher for a time.

I had finished the deal on my car and delivered it and the keys to CJ late on Friday and before that I'd totally pissed off the Portwenn staff when I told them I was leaving Portwenn and going to London.

"For how long?" asked Alicia.

Trudy butted in. "Permanent or temporary? You will come back, right?"

Sam struck the wall with his fist and cursed, then tried to be stoic.

Sally and Janice took hold of each other and tried not to cry.

David the custodian wiped his nose on a grimy rag, pressed my hand then left the room and I heard him utter choice curses as he stomped away.

"Have you told the students?" asked Janice.

I answered them the best I could, keeping a level tone while adopting a calm expression or so I hoped. "I've taken a job teaching there. I don't know for how long and no I have not told the students. There will be a letter to the parents which I'll have Sally post on Monday, after I've gone."

"Gone?" quavered Sally. "Gone this coming Monday?"

"Yes, today is my last day," I said. "Bit of a shock, I know…"

"Jesus, Louisa!" shouted Sam. "Just like that?"

Trudy was sniffling into a hand, but nudged him with an elbow to make him shut up. "Sam! You know…"

I scanned their faces. I saw shock, disbelief, and more than a few tears. "Right. Today. Mr. Sands and the Board know and they will be actively searching for a new head. I want you to know you are all fine teachers, and this IN NO WAY reflects on anything that you have done. This was _my_ decision and no one forced me into it."

Alicia came across the staff room and hugged me. The rest joined her in a massive group hug. It was embarrassing, but how could this be any worse than the last three weeks of hell? I let them paw me over, sniffle on my clothes and cheeks, and pump my hand.

I promised I'd write, send emails, call, all that.

They nodded numbly and made small affirmatives and expressions of regret and sadness. When they all left I finished cleaning out my desk, dropped the keys onto Sally's desk. She had left weeping on Janice's shoulder but there was nothing I could about that now.

I unsteadily walked to the school's front door. Not quite the way I had hoped things would go, but I'd made my bed; now have to lie in it.

David caught me at the door with a stricken look. "Miss Glasson!"

"Yes, David?"

"I, erm, well, I want you to know that in my twenty five years in the Royal Navy, I worked for many an officer and…" he stopped suddenly.

"Yes?" I tried to be composed but it _was_ difficult.

He cleared his throat. "Not a one of those twits was half the leader you are!" He snapped to attention and threw me a jaunty salute.

I laughed and returned it. "Thank you, David." I looked down the hallway one last time. "I'd better go."

"Miss," he smiled. "You take care in the big city, can't stand the place myself, but don't you worry about us."

"Sure."

"And you try to be happy there."

That almost made me collapse to the floor. "Right," I said and bolted. The door swung shut behind me with a resounding boom.

I went to my cottage, dropped off my satchel and briefcase then grabbed the keys and the paperwork for my car, and drove it to CJs house. That deed was quickly done and I walked back to the cottage. It was a bittersweet walk. Carless, jobless, soon to be homeless, I felt both burdened and weightless. But that _is_ what I wanted, I hoped.

When I got to London I could stay with Holly for a while, but camping on her sofa was not my idea of fun for too many nights. Knowing Holly as I did, I also knew that I would need my space, a spot of my own even if I had to share or it was a tiny bed-sit. There would certainly be no sea view, that much was certain, nor the smell of kippers cooking in the morning.

The alarm rang at six Saturday morn but I was already awake, showered and dressed. I managed to eat a real meal, no nausea, so I supposed it was all anxiety. I'd had entirely too much nervousness for at least a month, if not longer. Nice to have made decisions to put all this drama behind me.

I called for a taxi by eight and when it arrived at ten thirty went out to meet it. It was the same taxi driver as last week.

"Oh, hello, luv!" he laughed. "Another trip? Back to London, eh?" He took my two cases, both small and large rollies, and put them into the boot, while I held onto my handbag and briefcase.

"Yes, to London."

"I'll have you there in two shakes of a lamb's tail, miss! Off to Bodmin we go!"

I made sure my cottage door was locked. I'd given the spare key to Julia Bligh so she could show it. She was already on the hunt for a tenant. Soon, she promised. With rents up in London, I'd need extra income.

My hand stroked the pale blue paint of the door frame – so many memories.

"Coming, luv?" the driver asked. "Or are these cases making a trip by themselves?"

He laughed and in spite of what I was really feeling, I laughed a bit too. "Coming."

I climbed into the back seat as he got in and started the motor. He then turned around and looked back at me. "Alright?"

I looked away. "Just go. Please."

"You still look a bit pale. Paler than last week, seems to me." He engaged the clutch and then I saw that Margie from the market was out and about. I tried to shield my face but she saw me.

"Louisa!" she called out.

Well it wouldn't hurt. "Stop, for a minute."

"Ok. When is your train?"

"Just past twelve. Hang on." I rolled down my window.

"Margie."

"Louisa, I was talking to Sally Chadwick."

"Oh."

"Dear. Poor dear. So this is it?"

I looked at my watch. "I _have_ to go."

She looked so sad gawking at me. Her hand rose to mine and touched it through the open window. "I _am_ sorry."

I nodded my head. "Me too," I said and rolled up the window. "Let's go," I told the driver. The taxi moved forward and I knew that at that actual moment my old life had ended. I looked out the rear window as the taxi drove up the hill away from the coast.

I had not called Bert or Al, or Joan Norton, and not Roger Fenn either. They would find out soon enough and I could not bear the thought of more sad eyes, questions, or knowing comments. Let them think what they would; I just did not care anymore.

'Louisa, if you don't care what they think, then why are you leaving?' went the voice in my head. I was getting very tired of hearing her.

"Shut up! Just shush!" I muttered.

"What's that?" the driver asked.

"Nothing."

I'd miss the village's Annual Christmas Light Switch-On, the Holiday Pageant and Father Christmas' visit to the school. I would miss walks along the cliff paths over the year-end break, hot toddy at the Crab and Lobster, the Fishermen's Friends singing in the New Year at midnight on the 31st. I'd miss all of it; every bit. I'd miss friends as well, although lately it seemed I'd not had many. I'd even miss the rude people, most of whom I've known my whole life.

And I'd also miss a tall, stuffy, well dressed doctor, and it hurt most of all every time I thought of _him_.

Doors open and close so we can pass through; both an entrance and an exit.

I got one last look at the village dropping below the curve of the road as we went up the hill, with the ocean beyond, and seagulls flying above.

This door closed and it was definitely an _exit_.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35 – Returning

The road was slick with scattered rain but my car bore through occasional puddles with great force. As I drove I knew I had only to push the proper button on the steering wheel hub and the car phone would dial Louisa's number. So why didn't I? Just one little tap, the screen would light up, I'd scroll down to her number and press the dial button. Easy.

This could not be handled over the phone, only face to face. Mine was not that much to look at, but hers was – lovely, glowing, smiling, smooth-skinned, with bright eyes. Her brunette hair was mostly dark brown, but sunlight made it show lighter brown tints. She was of above medium height, with a slim build, and I know she watched her weight, avoiding most of the horrible baked pasties and fried herrings of her native village.

She was smart, quick with her tongue, light on her feet, and had a temper that could be slow to catch fire or as quick lightning.

As all these things flashed through my head they came with images of Louisa Glasson stretching from that awful first encounter on the plane and at the interview to the last time I saw her, with a damaged ankle sitting in the Farmer's Market. As I examined that trim, yet slightly swollen ankle, I brushed her hands away from the joint. Those hands were soft, smooth, slender, and how I wished to grab them and not let go. And how I wanted those slender arms and legs to be entwined with mine.

This was the moment that I would do just that – not let them go, nor the rest of her lovely body either. But it was not just her face and frame that I adored.

There was a sweetness about her; a forgiving nature. Yes, she was sweet even to me, rude and taciturn bugger that I am. Time after time I was rude to her, venting terrible yelling and shouting, saying to shush or even shut up! Yet somehow Louisa always gave me another chance. I had squandered those chances time and time again! Well no more.

If I had to throw myself at her feet and sob on her shoes to convince her that I loved her and was worthy of ONE MORE chance, then I would do it. I WOULD DO IT!

The clock read two PM as I swooped down the long hill to Portwenn. I blew right past PC Penhale dozing in the police Bedford and the stupid sod didn't even see me. Probably needed his medication adjusted once more for his narcolepsy. I passed Mr. Budde hobbling along the path and I could tell from his stiff gait he was not taking his anti-inflammatories for his arthritis. I saw many others along the street as well (Mrs. Siler – blood pressure, Mr. Tibbs – gout, Suzy Williams and her two-year-old son – birth control, Billy Croaker and his daughter Meg – phenylketonuria) as part of my brain automatically reviewed their medical treatment and what they might need, had been prescribed, and what might be needed next. Others I saw as well, but their names became their ailments or symptoms (eczema, lice, diabetes, torn anterior cruciate ligament, separated shoulder, deafness, burns from a motorbike exhaust, fish hook in the hand, smashed toe and a burn from a hot iron, infected cut from fishing nets). I knew every ailment, illness, indiscretion (rough sex, alcoholism, domestic violence, drug abuse) of this terrible village. Every one, nearly. But what I was not able to do – to treat correctly – was myself.

This is the affliction that I was prone to. Too little ability to act when I knew I had to do. Too little courage to open my mouth and say what I ought to be saying. Too little presence of mind to talk to Louisa as I should have. As I should have.

When she left my cottage three weeks ago today, I should have chased her down the street as she left, or better yet, rush in front of her and slam the front door, trapping her inside – until we _talked_. Really talked for once. But the fear held me back. What I was feeling at the moment was just what I felt when I saw a patient fall from a bike and smash their head on the ground. The medical actions to save a life or limb.

Martin, isn't this what you are going to do? Save a life? Except this time it is your miserable and wretched life?

I braked the car in front of White Rose Cottage on Fore Street – her cottage. The cottage where I proposed to her and she accepted, the kitchen table where we ate that first meal together as fiancés, and the red and white bedroom upstairs where we made love for the first time.

There was a clot of villagers outside the Market down the way but I ignored them as I exited the Lexus. I closed the door with authority, walked briskly to the light blue door and knocked on it.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36 – Leaving

Tony, the taxi driver, looked back at me in his mirror. I'd finally read his name on the license. He seemed like a nice man, and what he said next confirmed it. "You're sad, I can tell. Sorry about all of it."

I rustled through my bag for a facial tissue then dabbed at my eyes and blew my nose a little. "Sorry?"

His eyes looked straight at me. "You're _that_ teacher, aren't you? I heard some folks talkin' and they described you to a T."

I gulped. Was I now in for another batch of gossip? "Yes, yes I am."

"Seems to me you'll be gone for a while. Two cases in the boot."

I looked out the window and another tear trickled down my cheek. "Suppose that's true."

"You're leaving Portwenn; you've got that look."

I turned my head and stared at his reflection. "Look? What look?"

"None of my business, but in this here taxi I see and talk to all sorts; rich, poor, sad, happy, coming and goin'." He looked at the road across the moor then caught my eye again. "Luv, you're goin' and I'm guessin' you was drove to do it."

"Someone drove me to leave Portwenn?"

He nodded. "You can't stand to be near the _man_, so you've got to go, but you don't want to. But if you stay in the village, you're near him and you're afraid to be near. Round and round. What do they call it? A catch-22. That's it."

"You've got it all figured out, don't you?"

"Nah! Not me. If had all the answers would I be drivin' this taxi back and forth, round and round all day tryin' to make ends meet?" Tony laughed mockingly. "I hate this bloody job!"

"So why don't you quit? Do something else?"

He laughed again. "Luv, I got an ex-wife and a wife and three kids, two young and one old between 'em, and my oldest boy is up Cardiff way courtesy of Her Majesty. He'll get sprung in a couple three years. You think I can rest a single day? Get a bloody day off?"

"No, I suppose not." HM Prison Cardiff was where my dad was and that thought brought another round of sadness. We road in silence for a few minutes taking in the moor, the tors off in the distance and the blowing grass with a partly blue sky above. "You know hardship, then. Too much?"

That made Tony laugh. "Too much?" he shook his head. "That is a question. Too much? My dad came through Dunkirk and D-day without a scratch, but his whole regiment was casualties. Now that was too much. Poor sod; then he kicked it last year from the cancer."

"I am sorry."

"Me too. He was a nice sort." He checked his watch. "You know, since we're making good time, what say I buy you a tea at the platform shop? They have toasted tea-cakes there, my fav!"

"No, no. That's quite alright."

"Miss Head Teacher of Portwenn, let me do something nice for you?"

"Don't bother. No need, really. Nice of you but…"

"No bother, luv. My little girl and our young boy they think something fab about their school and their teachers. Maybe I'm just returning the favor. Fact they _both_ want to be teachers."

"Do they go to Portwenn?"

"Nope. Bude. What say for a cuppa with me? I need to have a break."

I smiled for the first time. "Sure."

At the Parkway Station he left my cases in the taxi. "Look, I've plenty of time, not another call for a bit. We'll have a cup and when you're ready, I'll get."

The tea-lady served us and we sat by the track window. "I'm Tony."

We shook hands. "Louisa. You didn't have to pay, let me…"

He held up his hand. "My treat." He sipped his tea. "Nice." He chatted about the weather for a while then I went to the loo. Seemed I had to go a little more frequently, but maybe it's the cool weather. At least my stomach wasn't bothering me today.

I took my seat again in the booth and Tony smiled at me. "You're looking better."

"Thanks. I guess I needed some tea."

Tony smiled. "Can't have you go cross country without a good brew-up!" He reached across the table, took my hand and got serious. "A long time back, there was this girl in our town, got all set to wed, then her fella did a bolt." He snapped his fingers. "Like that. Woosh!"

"Poor dear."

"Now she was knocked off her pins for a bit and then she left too. Went to Falmouth; not quite as far as London, like you. But she started over. She did ok, I found out later." He stared at the floor for a bit.

"You knew her."

"Oh yeah. I do. She was my sister." He laughed. "We see her at the Holidays. She lives up in Bath. Married and a grandmother besides. She got on luv, and so will you." His mobile buzzed at him. "Oh, hell. Yeah?" he answered. "Right. On my way." He stood awkwardly.

"You have to go. Nice of you to sit a bit and for the tea."

Tony smiled. "My sis, Beatrice is her name, said that the worst thing when she left home was that there was no one at the bus station to see her off. I couldn't let that happen to you, luv. Wouldn't be right."

I stood and hugged him. "You're so very kind."

Tony let me go and gave me a huge smile. "Luv, you will get on. Now fair winds." He marched outside and took my cases from the boot.

The clock showed my train to Plymouth would arrive in a few minutes. "Thanks again, Tony." I pressed a tenner into his hand, which he tried to give back. "No, you keep it. Thanks awfully."

"Right, Miss Louisa. Like I said," he headed to his cab. "You _will_ get on." He waved, climbed inside the taxi and drove away towards the coast, smiling and waving.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37 – Crash

I continued to bang on Louisa's front door, to no avail, as no response was evident. I glanced down the street and the mass of people outside the market seemed to have grown. Typical village nonsense, no doubt. Sometimes I was certain that they congregated in groups to compare gossip and to also spread viruses and bacteria.

I turned to my right, walked quickly to the end of the row, made two left turns and trekked across the back gardens to the terrace of Louisa's cottage. I stood there peering into her combination lounge and dining area through the glass doors. I shielded my eyes from the glare and stared inside, but other than a large cardboard carton sealed with tape sitting by the wall, there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary.

I tapped on the glass and called out. "Louisa! It's Martin. Are you home? Louisa?" I pounded harder and longer.

I got no response. No dulcet voice, no shining eyes, no… Louisa. But I had to see her, tell her… I saw the cooker looked clean and tidy, no pots in the sink that I could see, nor papers or magazines on the table. I pressed my face to the glass with hands held to my face blocking out the glare when a voice surprised me.

"Doc? Taking up being a peeping Tom?" Penhale stood by my side, his thumbs hooked into his police equipment belt. "I'd hate to have to charge you…"

I dropped my arms swiftly as I backed from the glass door.

"It's a joke, Doc! I'm sure you're on an errand of mercy, well maybe, I mean…" he cleared his throat nervously. "You did sort of leave your car illegally parked in front of the cottage. You're going to move it soon?" He tapped a pad of tickets in his breast pocket. "Hate to have to cite you." He winked.

"No. I was, uhm, am looking for Louisa Glasson."

"Stands to reason, you standing on her terrace."

I started to walk from the back of the cottage and Penhale followed at a trot. I tried to get away from the dolt, but he kept up, almost jogging alongside. He almost crashed into me in his haste. "Did Louisa call you, Doc? Anything wrong? With Louisa I mean."

I gave him a piercing stare as we reached the street. "It's not any of _your_ business!"

Joe pinched the sleeve of my suit coat. "Doc, please… I'm trying to tell you… if you'll just give me a _minute_." He panted.

"Tell me what?" I turned from Joe as I heard voices, to see the people by the Market were now clustered by my car, muttering and giving me strange looks. Their behavior was not that odd as I had seen many peculiar behaviors in this appalling village. This was one more example of small town activities. Strange people; almost all of them.

The only one I could bear to be near was Louisa, and I had mucked that up for fair, and Aunt Joan as well for I hadn't treated her fairly either.

Joe looked at them and started to yell. "All you lot! Back to your business. Nothing to see here. I'll take care of it."

I whirled on him. "Take care of what?" I turned to face the crowd, now about a dozen or so. "What are you all gawking at?" Now my temper was up.

The crown rolled their eyes, shook their heads and slowly wandered away, but not moving that far.

"Joe, what in heaven's name is going on? Would you mind explaining?"

Penhale looked about timidly. "Doc, you see…"

"No, I don't see! What's going on? What part of my personal life are YOU and THEY messing about with now? Well?"

"Doc." Joe started. "Look, I had hoped to talk to you in private, like. I was sitting in my patrol vehicle hoping to intercept you. Somebody saw you drive away this morning. I was waiting for you to get back."

"Why?"

Joe took a deep breath. "It's like this, Doc. You see…" he started to say, but he was interrupted by the woman from the market. Maggie, or Margie, or something is her name; I had treated her for Bell's palsy last winter.

The stocky woman shouted, waving her thick arms. "Joe! For God's sake tell him! Tell the man!"

Joe looked down at his shoes. "I _really_ don't want to do this…"

Margie, or Maggie, marched over and looked me straight in the eye at close quarters. "Look, it's like this." Joe tried to bodily intervene, but she brushed him away. "You never did understand what you had, did you?" she bellowed angrily. "How you swooped in here from London and treated us all like dirt!"

"That's not true, Margie!" retorted Penhale. "Leave off the man, would you? Not his fault."

"Oh? Isn't it? Come into our town made a total mess of things!"

She was right. I had made a mess of things; with patients and treatments, and there wasn't a single person in the entire village I cared about or cared for me, but for a handful. But I had no time for this balderdash. I had to…

"And you!" she spat at my feet. "To think I let a tosser like you treat my face when I needed help! Bah!"

Others in the group made similar comments about my character, person, or my profession. I looked from one to the other. "I don't have time for this," I said and brushed past all of them to my car.

"Doc! Wait!" yelled Penhale, but I drove away. Looking back I saw the man actually chased me for a few feet then stopped as Al Large appeared from nowhere and grabbed his arm. Pauline was on the other side of Joe and they held a conversation.

Just as well. I was in no mood for dealing with idiots. My drive back from Newquay was filled with worry and anxiety and now a new concern had taken over. Louisa was _not_ home. That much was clear.

In my cottage I sat quite still for a few minutes, my mind racing, and was pulling my mobile from my pocket when there was a knock on my kitchen door. I had been steeling myself for a _very_ awkward phone call and now I was interrupted.

"God! Who is that now?" I swore and opened the door to find Al Large looking at me with a morose expression, which was typical. "What do _you_ want? Is this medical?"

Al dug a toe into the slate and looked askance at my face. "Doc. Not medical…"

"Then why have you come here Al?"

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Can I come in? It's starting to rain."

"Alright." Al came in but I left the door standing open. "Make it quick."

"Doc, I know that _you_ don't want to see _me_ right now."

"No, I don't! What is it Al?" I gritted my teeth, expecting to hear some sort of Portwennian nonsense, like the outbreak of bubonic plague, a sea monster in the harbor, or another money-making scheme of his father which always fails. "Go on!" I urged him. "Out with it."

"Well, Pauline and I, and the others, were talkin' and she said that you need to know something. I… sort of got elected." He rubbed his chin and avoided my eyes. "I know that…"

"Al? Please get to the point." I could hear and see rain pounding down as Al verbally danced around.

"It's like this… Paul said she would come with me… but she sort of chickened out…"

"Oh? So what sort of trouble have you two gotten yourselves into now?"

"Damn it Doc! Do you have to be so bloody nasty? I'm trying to tell you something important! Tryin' to help…"

"So say it and get out!"

Al looked at me grimly. "It's like this…"

I listened to what he said, yelled "Get out!" and thrust him out into the downpour, and as I slammed the door behind him it made a crash like a falling coffin lid.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38 – Culmination

The train was on time into Paddington Station. I dragged my cases off the car towards the escalator and stopped to catch my breath by the famous bronze statue of the bear. Paddington Bear sat on his suitcase, with the tag around his neck reading 'Please look after this bear.'

I patted his head as some children ran over and hugged the little figure. I smiled as they shouted with glee as they climbed on the stone below the character and curled up around him as their mum took a picture with a mobile phone.

How many times did I read those books as a girl? Far too many to recall. Paddington had arrived at the station as a stowaway and I felt a kindred spirit with him. He came from 'deepest-darkest Peru' and I from Portwenn so at that moment I felt much as the Spanish speaking fictional bear must have felt, alone in a strange place.

I could only hope that someone might look after me as well, for at that moment I almost rushed over to a ticket window and bought a return trip to Cornwall. My hands started to shake and I felt the well-known stir of nausea, so I had to rush off to the loo again. This time I had quite a good little cry afterwards, kneeling on the cold tile after puking up the nonexistent contents of my stomach. I'd only had tea on the train and the toasted tea-cake in Bodmin was hours ago. I just hadn't wanted to eat anything, and now I felt awful; cold, tired, worn out, shivery, and not at all well.

"What _am_ I doing here?" I whimpered. "Oh, Martin, how did it end up like this?" I blew my nose on tissue. "How did we _end_ like this? Alone? Apart?"

'Louisa, it's what you wanted,' said my nagging internal voice. 'You told him you loved him, but you couldn't marry him.'

"I know," I whispered an answer. "I _do_ love him. But it wouldn't work out."

'Oh? Well did you really want to give it a try? Make a go of it?'

"No!" I shouted back. "I wasn't willing to end up like my mum and dad!"

My words echoed off the tile walled room and a voice called out. "Hello? Someone in here? Is there a problem?"

God! Can't even have an argument in London with my conscience without someone interrupting. "I'm alright. Fine in here," I lied. "Just like bloody Portwenn," I muttered.

I heard footsteps. "What's that?" asked the woman's voice.

I stood and opened the door and was eye-to-eye with a young policewoman; a blonde beauty. I bet all the lads were after her. "Oh! No, I was just talking to myself."

"Ok." She said as she looked me up and down. "You're sure."

"Fine. I'm fine. Really."

She nodded. "Then why have you been crying?"

I was biting my lip as well. "Hay fever." I waved my hand. "Pollen."

She grinned. "Hay fever? In late November?" She rolled her eyes. "No one has been… bothering you?"

I stood up straight and wiped my eyes. "No. I'm fine."

"Ok. Have a nice day, then."

She stepped away and left the room as I sagged against the stall wall. So much for being one in the crowd! After washing up and drying my eyes I made my up and out of the station, dragging my cases along as I hailed a taxi.

On the way to Holly's flat I started to feel a bit better. Just nerves; all the stress of the last three weeks – really more like a month and a half. Just must be nerves.

My internal voice had to chime in. 'Sure, Louisa, just keep saying that and you'll be fine.'

"Ok. I will be fine."

"Wots that miss?" asked the driver.

"Nothing. Just wool-gathering."

He eyed me suspiciously. "Not in any trouble, are you?"

"No, I'm quite alright… now."

"Been a rainy afternoon here but the weather bloke says sunny tomorrow."

"That will be nice."

000

I was slumped on my sofa replaying what Al Large had told me just moments before. "Doc. She uh… Louisa's gone. She quit the school and moved to London. We heard she took a job there."

I had felt deep down that this would be the outcome of the last two weeks, or at least since noon or so today. I took out my mobile and flipped down to her phone number. I should call her. Tell her good luck or some such nonsense. My index finger had only to move less than a millimeter to depress the button, electrical contacts would be completed, wonders of modern electronics and software would be activated and in a few seconds her mobile would ring.

But the digit was frozen in inaction. I sat there for a minute or so unmoving from indecision. _Should_ I call? Should I _not_ call?

Louisa leaving Portwenn must be what she wanted, else why would she go? The gossips, wagging tongues, disapproving faces and attitudes, and I as well, had driven her away - away to _London_.

It was all so backwards! I was in Portwenn while she was in London! Insane! Mad! Totally barking Bodmin! I snapped the phone shut.

Worst of all, she hadn't _told_ me she was leaving! That day at the school when the children fought, and the boy got the worst of it, she had clearly wanted to tell me _something_ as I stood at the door to leave. Then we were interrupted by a telephone call! That must have been the day she was going to tell me. That was the day…

I felt that if Louisa and I were marooned on a desert island, we would be interrupted from actually communicating by a rescue squad dropping from a large noisy helicopter while a cruise ship blared its horn at a deafening volume just offshore! Constantly interrupted, it is amazing that we got as far as we did. And at the end, it wasn't enough.

I sighed, lost in my misery. What did Louisa want? The scene in Newquay as the family went into the ice cream shop rose to my mind. That is what _I_ wanted. I wanted a wife, children perhaps and a life beyond the medical practice that seems to have become my only activity.

I picked up my mobile from the table and made ready once more to try and call her.

But my nerve failed at that point as I realized that she had left and had _not_ told me. Louisa had obviously gone to pains to keep her plans secret. She had not involved me at _any_ point and had taken care of the whole thing herself. Considering the girl had practically raised herself from the age of eleven or so, she was quite capable of caring for herself.

That alone told me that _she_ wished to leave utterly without _my_ knowledge. I respected her enough to believe that if she had wished me to be aware of her plans, she would have said so. Therefore I could only honor her apparent wishes. I may be rude and obnoxious at times, but I am also honorable and not stupid. I had hurt Louisa far too much and could not bear to even think of hurting her one iota more.

I sat there for some time, hours perhaps, elbows on knees in quite the same posture as three weeks ago to the day when we called the wedding off. Porter had asked me today if I was happy. We did not marry then and the last three weeks were pure hell. I considered how right that awful little man was!

It was fitting that the kitchen door flew open right then and Auntie Joan rushed inside. "Martin? I've just heard! It's true?" She was all aflutter, her face ruddy and eyes wide.

I hurried over and threw my arms about her, burying my face in her shoulder, as she stood on the step from the kitchen.

"She's really gone? Louisa's left? I can't believe it!" Joan probed. "She's gone?"

I nodded my head and to my utmost horror burst into tears.

"There, there, Marty." She said soothingly. "It will be alright."

"No! It won't… it won't! Not ever!" I sagged to the floor as Joan tried to hold me up. Racking sobs shook me as I knelt on the slate.

I'd not cried like this since… since Edith Montgomery had left for Canada. It all came back, the feeling of loss, sadness, solitude, shame, and disappointment. Like a death, but not a death.

Joan whispered meaningless words into my ear and rubbed my back as I pounded a fist upon the floor.

All I could think of was Louisa. Louisa, I love you! I do so love you! I shouted silently.

To Mr. Porter I could firmly answer that I _wasn__'__t_ happy _now_ and likely _never_ would be.

000

"Louisa!" Holly yelled as I got to her flat, trudging down the ill-lit hallway to her front door.

By now I was truly tired and worn. "Hello, Holly! I'm here!"

"Oh, I know! I know! Dump your coat any old place, drop those cases, take those shoes off, and crash!"

"Thanks. I am quite knackered." I did as she directed and almost collapsed onto a chair.

"Have you eaten?"

"No, I've not. Just some tea and cakes in Cornwall."

"My God, girl! You're probably too tired for going out. Take-away? There's a very nice curry place around the block…"

I held up my hand. "Spicy food hasn't exactly been my cup of tea lately. I'd be happy with a cheese sandwich!" Just the thought of curry made me feel sick and cheese might not be such a great idea either.

"Well then, how about… let me see…" she started pawing through a pile of menus by the phone.

Typical Holly, all bustling about, spinning her web and snaring all to circle about under _her_ plan. I smiled carefully at her, thinking that the sooner I could find a place of my own, the better – for then we would _remain_ friends.

With her hobbling along in her back brace we went to a little sandwich shop three blocks off, where I think I had the worst cheese sandwich in my life. It was dry and tasteless and the tomatoes tasted like they had been flattened under a bus leaking petrol. I ate it anyway along with stale crisps and drank scalding tea of even lesser quality.

All the while Holly chattered on about my new school, so much bigger than Portwenn, and the shops nearby, so much better selection, and so on and so on. Thankfully through her monologue she didn't once mention Martin or ask me how I was doing, for then the façade would have cracked. I held a vacant smile on my face as she nattered on. But when I yawned she got the hint.

"God, Louisa, I _am_ sorry! Let's get you home."

We walked back to the flat, where she headed to the bathroom, as I unpacked my pyjamas and dressing gown.

"Sorry, about the sofa, but when you get your own place…" she said when she came out into the lounge.

"It's ok." I yawned once more. "I really am tired."

"Of course, poor dear," she said and hugged me. "Glad you're here at long last! This will be so much better for you, in _London_. Yes?"

"Ok. Goodnight Holly."

Holly went to her bed, and I cleaned away my makeup, false eyelashes, and let my hair down. I stood at the sink, brushing my hair and thinking. I missed my cottage, car, cries of seagulls, the rush of salt sea air borne by a breeze over the house, and the swish-swash of waves into the harbor of Portwenn.

I switched off the light; lay down on the lumpy sofa, between sheets tucked haphazardly into the cushions, with an old stained pillow under my head and a scratchy blanket at my chin. I took up my mobile, opened the cover and saw there were no calls I'd missed. Not a one.

I'd made my escape from Portwenn successfully but the one person I really should have talked to; the one person… With the push of a button, his phone would ring, and he would answer.

"Ellingham," he'd say or if he saw it was from me, "Louisa?"

What would I say? What would I tell him? I put down the phone. What could I tell him? That I had run away? Too truthful that.

Sleep would not come tonight; not easily. Finally around one AM, I opened my mouth and softly spoke into the dark room. "I'm sorry Martin. I'm sorry I didn't make you happy."

Then I snatched the pillow from behind my head, buried my face into it and cried bitter tears. And when I had completely and utterly exhausted myself, I had to say one more thing into the night.

"Goodnight, Martin. Take care of yourself. Love you."

000

That night, long after Aunt Joan had left the surgery I went upstairs and stripped off. I brushed my teeth, used mouthwash, the toilet, dressed in pyjamas and then crawled between the cold sheets.

I shivered in the darkness wondering how Louisa was doing. For that matter, where was she?

Somewhere in the nearly eight million person mass of London, she was likely sleeping at this very moment, safe and secure. In spite of my emotional exhaustion I could not fall to sleep for many an hour.

Sometime after one, I turned on my side and whispered to the form that was not in bed beside me. "Sorry, Louisa. I'm sorry I didn't try harder, _much_ harder, to make you happy."

Tears ran again down my cheeks. "Goodnight, Louisa. Take care. I love you."

And only then did I sleep.

The End

**Author's Notes:**

'**Doc Martin' is a production of and the property of Buffalo Pictures, and I thank the owners, creators, actors, and production staff for crafting such a compelling "fairy tale" that has kept me on the edge of my TV seats for five seasons. I also thank them for unofficially letting me play with their creations.**

**Thanks for reading my story of downs, ups, and downs. This lost period of Doc Martin between Season 3 and Season 4 bugged me greatly, so I had to try and answer what happened after the non-wedding of Louisa Glasson and Martin Ellingham.**

**If you have put up with my meandering all over the landscape, thank you for bearing with my fevered imagination for so long and thank you for reading along and your many comments.**

**How not to write a story:**

**This was just going be a short one; all from DM's POV told looking backward, mostly. But then I had to tell LGs story, so her story was told going forward! Confusion reigned in my head until I wrote an outline of every chapter I had already written along with a timeline, thusly matching and dovetailing the story of Louisa going forward.**

**Some know that I generally sit down and bull forward, letting the characters tell me what they are doing and saying. That approach almost killed me on this one, and it is with both relief and regret that I declare it finished, or at least abandoned in place.**

**One other tip for my fellow FF authors – Get the facts straight! Isobel had a baby girl, not a boy! Oh well.**

**See you in Portwenn!**

**Rob**


End file.
